The Copper Promise
by Wydrin Williams 178
Summary: There are some tall stories about the caverns beneath the Keep - Malon of Lon-haven has heard them all, but she's spent enough trawling caverns and taverns with her companion Sir Rusl to know that there's no money to be made in rumours. Then a crippled nobleman with a dead man's name offers them a job: Exploring the Keep's darkest depths...
1. Chapter 1

**The Copper Promise; Part 1: Ghosts of the Citadel  
By: Wydrin Williams 178** **  
**

 **A/N:** Alright, first things first. This almost has no correlation to the Zelda series what-so-ever other than the charcters name. SO this is basically a full on AU fanfic. Hope you enjoy it anyways.

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 **1**

All the other cells in the dungeon stank of fear, but not this one. Lord Frith's last surviving son was simply too proud to be afraid. Even now, as Dodongo laid out his instruments on the blood-stained bench, holding each wicked blade up to the torch-light, the young man kneeling on the stone floor had only anger in his eyes.

 _The blood of his father is on that bench. His brothers' too_ , though Nabooru. _And soon his as well, but he'll defy us to the end. Stubborn bastard.  
_  
The dungeons of the Faron Keep were small and thick with shadows, which meant that Nabooru had to stand rather closer to Dodongo than she would have liked. He was a greasy wart of a man; shiny bulges of flesh poked through his leather tunic, and lank strands of grey hair stuck to his bulbous scalp. His rheumy eyes watered constantly, but not out of sympathy for his victims. Dodongo might be foul to look upon, but his ability to summon excruciating pain with a few carefully placed cuts was invaluable to Nabooru.

Despite the rough treatment they'd shown him so far, young Link Frith was another matter. With the strong jaw and Blue eyes of all the Friths, his pale skin and fashionable long blond hair, he was a comely young man. Nabooru had an appreciation for beautiful things; she had commanded that the finest paintings in the castle be taken down from the walls and packed into crates for her personal perusal later. It pained her greatly to spoil that warm skin, those pretty eyes. In the initial scuffle Link had taken a blow to the temple, and now the dried blood was making his hair stick up at strange angles on one side. And Dodongo would only make things worse, of course. _Such a waste_. Still, they needed him to talk, and soon. If they went another day without answers, then Ganon might come up to the Faron himself, and no one wanted that.

"Anything more to add, Link, before this gets bloody. Or should I call you Lord Frith now? Your father died in here yesterday."

Link Frith slumped a little where he knelt, glancing away from her. For a brief moment she felt sorry for him, but the sensation didn't last. The black velvet and silks he'd been wearing when they took the castle were stained and ragged now, but this was a man who'd been born into a privileged life. A silver brooch in the shape of a tree was still pinned to his breast, with tiny chips of sapphires in the branches that could have been leaves or could have been stars. It was fine work; Nabooru made a note to make sure that it ended up in her pocket at the close of this messy business.

He looked back up at her and his eyes were dry.

"I have nothing to say to Gerudo scum."

Nabooru sighed, and looked around the squalid cell. The torches only made the corners darker.

"You want to end your days here, Lord Frith? For the sake of what? Some jewels, some gold? Coin you'll probably never get around to spending?

Link said nothing, Nabooru felt a stab of impatience.

"We know the vault is hidden somewhere in the forest, Link. Everyone knows that. We'll find it eventually, but I'd much rather you told me. It's a lot quicker that way."

To her surprise, Link grinned.

"You think you'll find the location scribbled on a piece of parchment, a footnote in my father's will perhaps? I'm not sure you understand how secrets work."

"You tell me, then. You're the last. I may even keep you alive. The Gerudo people are fascinated by the aristocracy of their neighbours, and they'll pay good coin to come and gawp at you." she tried to inject a reasonable tone into her voice. "Tell me now, Link Frith, and I swear this will go better for you. You've got nothing to gain from adopting the stubbornness that killed the rest of your family."

"Colin was nine years old. He was not stubborn, he was terrified!"

Nabooru took a step towards the prisoner. She could feet her face growing flushed, much to her annoyance.

"You would end your life here, in the dungeon of your own castle? Hundreds of years of the proud Frith family, and you'll end up in unmarked grave in your own damn forest."

In answer, Link spat on her boot.

"Enough talk," said Dodongo through a throat full of phlegm. He picked up a vicious blade no longer than Nabooru's smallest finger. "Time to see the colour of the young lord's blood. I heard it's green, like their trees, but it's all been red so far. Very disappointing, that."

Nabooru shook the spittle of her boot.

"Get started."

Nabooru left Dodongo to his work - there was, in the end, only so much of it she could watch - and spent some time patrolling the castle, checking on her men and their search though old Lord Frith's private documents. The servants had been rounded up in the Great Hall, and Koume and Kotake, her second-in-commands, had made some attempt to beat the information out of then, but they clearly knew nothing of use.

The question of the vault had been a vexing one. The Frith family were famous not only for their wealth, but also for their paranoia. Several generations back the Lord at the time, one Daphnes Frith, had ordered a great vault built in the middle of the Faron. Each day, the men who worked on it were taken to the location blindfolded, with one member of the Frith family on hand at all times to supervise the plans. Hundreds of years later, and all anyone seemed certain of was that it was in the Faron somewhere, hidden in that huge and unknowable forest. The Frith family fortune, just waiting for someone to steal it.

A number of hours later Nabooru returned to the dungeon. As she approached the cell she listened for the noises men made when they'd reached the end of their endurance, but the stone halls were quite.

"Please tell me you have some answers, Dodongo."

The torturer wiped his hands on a bloody cloth, grimacing.

"The boy is just as big an idiot as the rest of them."

Link Frith was strapped to the bench, his arms held down by his sides with iron cuffs. Dodongo had long since removed the expensive velvets and silks, so that he lay shivering in his smallclothes. One side of his face was slick with blood, and one hand was red to the wrist. His chest was livid with burn marks, and Nabooru could smell the hot, sweet scent of scorched flesh.

"I've done all the usual. Hot pokers, burning needles under the fingernails - once that didn't work I just ripped 'em off - some cuts here and there. Took one of his ears, and I thought he might give in then, but it doesn't look like he's paying much attention now. You want me to put one of his eyes out?"

Nabooru watched the young lord carefully. His eyes were closed, his breathing rapid and shallow. He looked like someone caught in the midst of a deep fever, but she thought he could hear them, all the same.

"Hold off for a moment."

She went over to the bench and took hold of Link's jaw, turning him to face her. One of his eyes flickered open; the other was caked shut with blood from a deep cut on his cheek.

"Put away your pride, Lord Frith. Tell me where the vault is."

For a moment the look in his one open eyes was confused, as though he didn't know where he was. The he focused on her and she saw that look sharpen to hate.

"The Faron will have your blood, peasant."

Nabooru took her hand away.

"There is a grave out there in your precious forest, and it isn't for me." she turned to the torturer. "The mallet, I think. I want his legs broken."

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 **A/N** : Now, I know this is all very grim and bloody, but it gets less so, I promise... up to a point. Some of the characters situation will be a little weird but as before, this is a total AU fic. Thanks for reading everyone!


	2. Chapter 2

**The Copper Promise - Part one: Ghosts of the Citadel**  
 **By** : Wydrin Williams 178  


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 **2**

"We tread carefully here, master."

Pipit looked up from the map. The guide was running his fingers over the red granite walls, sniffing and frowning as though he'd trodden in something regrettable.

"Really? There's nothing indicated on here," Pipit shook the map at him. "And I'd really prefer it if you didn't call me master, Keaton. I am your employer, not your overlord. We're practically partners!"

Keaton turned his mismatched eyes towards him. One was brown as a nut and narrow with caution; the other was false, a ball of green jade etched with a silver pupil. It swivelled in his eyes socket.

"You trust the map?"

"It's all we've got to go on. And it's not as though I brought it from one of those grinning Shiek stones we saw down in the city - I've no doubt there's a little house somewhere in Hyrule where a hundred skinny children sit drawing fake maps to the Keep - this was stolen from the ruins of a temple in Death Mountain, snatched from under the noses of the Gorons," Pipit paused to let this sink in; he was still proud of that.

"As you say, master."

Pipit cast a look back the way they'd come. He could still see the last of the desert daylight far above, framed in the distant doorway like a window of gold. They had walked cautiously down a steep set of plain stone steps, treading carefully for fear of traps, snakes and scorpions; it was said that the haunted Keep had a thousand grisly ways to kill you, each more unpleasant than the last. In front of them was a chamber made of grey stone. It was a little colder than he'd been expecting, but there was nothing obviously untoward. On the far side were the entrances to three passageways, each shrouded in darkness.

"What is it you fear?"

The guide screwed up his face and shook his head.

"I fancy I hear things. Every now and then, a rumble, a sigh."

"You do?" Pipit stood very still and listened, but all he could hear was the rush of the wind sighing past the door high above them, and the sound of his own breathing. This far below Hyrule it wasn't even possible to hear the cacophony of the city, shielded as they were by the solid weight of the ancient stones. He laughed suddenly, and clapped Keaton heartily on the back. The guide winced.

"Look at us! We have barely made headway into the first level of the Keep and already we are twitching at every noise, as nervous as mice. Let's keep moving," Pipit looked at the map and nodded to the entrance on the far right. "We take this one."

"As you say, master."

In the next chamber they found a narrow stairwell leading downwards. The light from Keaton's torch only illuminated the first few steps before the darkness seemed to eat it up.

"We should light another torch, master."

"I'd rather have my hands free." Pipit patted the scabbard at his hip.

"I do not like this." Keaton frowned at the dark, pushing his leathery old face into a thousands crinkles. The light from the torch reflected on his jade eye, making it glow like a cat's. "We should have waited for your friend to join us. Another sword hand, yes, that would have been most wise. We can still go back, await him in Hyrule."

Pipit shook his head impatiently.

"I could waste my whole life waiting for Rusl while the Keep sits here, all its secrets undiscovered. And besides, we've already given the guards their bribe." There had been a time when his friend would have been the first down the steps into the Keep a wild gleam in his eye and his sword drawn, but now he spoke of waiting and, worse, _honour_. It was enough to turn an adventurer's stomach. "Look, if it makes you feel better, my blade shall go first." He drew his sword and gave Keaton his most reassuring smile. "Follow me close. We shall need what light that torch of yours can cast."

They descended the stairs, Pipit in front, Keaton coming along behind, holding the torch high above his head. The passageway was narrow, the steps uneven. Pipit brushed his free hand against the stones and his fingers came away covered in a thin green slime. Ahead there was a darkness as deep and complete as anything he had ever seen; it was like a solid thing, so that he almost feared to go too quickly lest he collide with it. Their footsteps echoed strangely, seeming to fade away and then come back again faster, or slower. A few more steps, and his ears popped.

"A dark place, that is for certain," said Pipit. He wanted to talk, to cover up those uneasy echoes, but his voice sounded strained and weak to his own ears. "Rusl would not like this at all. He prefers his open skies and his mountains."

"As you say, master." Keaton sounded as though he couldn't give two shakes of a donkeys arse about Rusl's mountains, and Pipit couldn't blame him. Even so, he could not stop talking.

"Do you know Skyloft, Keaton? Strange place. They worship their sky as gods, and there are secret shrines that only the Skyloft knights can find. Rusl promised to take me to one once, even thought it is forbidden."

Suddenly Pipit was filled with the certainty that he would never see the sky shrine - would never, in fact, see daylight again. The thought caught his tougue and held it, filling his chest with an alien tightness. He cleared his throat but said no more, and they walked on in silence

Ever downwards they went, with no change to the steps or the rough walls beside them. They walked for so long that Pipit began to wonder if this was one of the mythical traps of the Keep, one so subtle and simple that you could be walking for years before you realized you had grown old and doddery. Pipit was a man who prided himself on the physical condition of his body - when he had stolen the map from the Gorons he had outrun them all and barely felt it - but a sweat had broken out on his brow and his legs were starting to ache.

A faint rustling from above stopped Pipit in his tracks. It reminded him of the sound ropes make on the docks when the boats cast off - rough hessian rubbing against splintered wood. He looked up, but Keatons torch cast only the faintest of glimmers towards the ceiling.

"What is that?" he said, his fear briefly lost in curiosity, "Say, can you see something?"

There was a brief suggestion of movement, followed by a blood-curdling scream from behind him. Pipit turned in time to see Keatons legs vanishing upwards, his body pulled up into the darkened ceiling. Like most men who sell their sword for money, Pipit was as quick as a cat. His arm shot out and grabbed hold of his guide's boot.

"Help me, help me!" squealed Keaton. The torch dropped down onto the steps, smouldering and smoking. Whatever had him was fearsomely strong. Pipit pulled down on Keaton's boot but the force pulling him up only increased, nearly yanking him up with the hapless guide. He tried to drop the sword to grab on with both hands. but his hands would not obey.

"Keaton!"

As quick as that the boot was gone, and Keaton flew up into the dark recesses of the ceiling. Pipit held his sword over his head as, unseen, his guide began to scream, over and over. There was a patter of what felt like warm rain against his upturned face, and something small and round dropped down past his nose, to chink against the stone steps and then bounce away into the dark beyond. He saw it only for a second in the guttering light of Keaton's torch, but he recognised the jade eye with the silver pupil, now lost to the shadows at the bottom of the unending steps.

The whole thing had taken no more than a handful of heartbeats. Pipit picked up the torch and blew it back into life, noticing that it was now sticky with blood. When the light was strong again, he held it up over his head, half fearing to see Keaton's grinning corpse flattened to the ceiling, a hole in his face where his eyes should be... but there was nothing there. He saw more of the same grey stone, the same green mould, and no sign of his guide. Pipit swallowed hard and tightened his grip on his sword.

"The place is cursed," he spat. As terror passed, he was filled with a black fury. How dare it take his guide form him? To suffer such a loss at the very beginning of the adventure was unthinkable. Rusl would be insufferable, for a start, "A foul thing, to pick off an unarmed man from above."

"Would you prefer to meet face to face, young warrior?"

The voice was so close behind him Pipit could feel the tickle of warm breath on the back of his neck. He span, sword out, but what met him on the steps of the Keep drained all the strength from his arms with one slow smile.

"I thought not," it said, with a note of long-suffering humour. "They never do."

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 **A/N:** Hi guys! Thanks for reading, please review ways I could improve. Love you all!


	3. Chapter 3

**The Copper Promise - Part one: Ghosts of the Citadel**  
 **By** : Wydrin Williams 178  


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 **3**

"You're a dirty cheat! Everyone knows it! That's what everyone says."

Malon drew the last of the cards towards her across the table, snatching a quick glance at whoever might be listening in the crowded tavern. Good rumours, bad rumours; they were all the same to her. Unfortunately, an early summer's evening in The _Hands of Fate_ tavern was a busy time, and no one was paying much attention to an argument over a game of cards. _Not until it gets bloody_ , anyway, she thought.

"Have you forgotten the rules again, Ralis?" She smiled up at him, and was pleased to see his face turn a darker shade of pink. "I'll be glad to explain them to you, but the gist of it is, well, you lost. Fair and square. The Copper Cat plays a clean game. Well, clean card games, anyway."

"I want my money back." Ralis Larken slammed his fist down on the table, causing the small pile of coins to jump. "You'll give it back now, you lying little thief."

Malon leaned back in her chair and patted the two daggers at her belt.

"Thief, is it? You want to take that up with my claws here?"

There was a slight hesitation from Ralis Larken now, and this, too, pleased Malon. It seemed he wasn't a total fool after all.

"I just want what's mine, that's all, or I'll tell everyone."

Malon drew the dagger, too fast for him to follow, and then very slowly flipped one of the cards over with the point. It was the eight of cups.

"You'll tell everyone what?"

"Uh..."

A shadow suddenly loomed over them. Malon looked up to see a tall, broad-shouldered man with short blond hair and an enormous broadsword slung over his back. He was carrying a tankard in each hand, and he gave Malon a pained look before turning to Ralis.

"I've told you before, Ralis. If you still insist on playing cards with her you can't keep complaining you've lost all your money. Rats learn faster than you."

Ralis backed away from the table awkwardly, half taking the chair with him. His eyes were glued to the sword.

"Fine, keep it then." He shot a poisonous look at Malon. "Can't get an honest game in this shit hole of a city."

Malon watched him back away into the crowd. She gave him a little wave.

"Really, Rusl," she said as the big man sat down, carefully placing the tankards away from the cards. "I wasn't even cheating this time. As soon as he gets some decent cards it's written all over his stupid face."

Rusl shifted in his seat and glanced back towards the door. He was a big man, muscled and powerful, but with a kind face, a long nose and blue eyes, which Malon liked to tease him about. No fearsome knight had eyes that pretty, she said.

"It would be helpful if you could avoid starting any fights while we're waiting to meet a potential client."

Malon rolled her eyes and took a mouthful of ale. It was warm and tasted of oats. Not bad for Hyrule.

"What's the matter with you? You look like someone's pissed in your beer."

Rusl sighed and picked up his tankard.

"This job. I'm not certain it's wise. After what happened we should be all the more cautious."

"This is what you wanted, Rusl." Malon slid her dagger back into its scabbard and lowered her voice. "We can find him this way. Pipit was an idiot, and we're not. We'll be fine." Catching the look on his face she changed her tone. "Besides which, anyone stupid enough to explore the Keep will be paying through the nose for it. We'll be set for the rest of the year. No more working for tiresome little merchants who want their poxy wagon trains guarded." She sniffed. "I was thinking of getting some new leather armour, too. Red, maybe, to match my hair."

Rusl laughed at that; her hair was long, scruffy, and carroty.

"I suppose," he said eventually. "We have to go in there after him, and this is as good a way as any. We can't even afford to bribe the guards by ourselves."

"Who is this client, anyway?" asked Malon. "I'm curious to know what sort of fool is so eager to go exploring such an infamous death trap." She cleared her throat. "Besides Pipit, of course."

"A lord of some sort." Rusl took a sip of his ale, and shrugged.

"A lord! Bound to have plenty of coin, then."

Malon's eye was caught by a slim figure pushing his way through the crowded tavern. He walked with a stick and had a shock of blond hair, but as he got closer she saw that he was startlingly young; no older than her, certainly. He had a livid scar down one cheek, and he was glaring around at the patrons as though they had each done him a personal insult.

Malon looked at Rusl and tipped her head towards the newcomer. Sometimes they would keep an eye out for easy targets, men or women who wouldn't last the night in a city like Hyrule and might be in need of protection. It was an easy way to make some coin.

Rusl looked, and then sat up straighter in his chair.

"By Hylia, I think that's him."

Malon raised her eyebrows.

"I thought you said he was a lord?"

Spotting them, the blond-haired man came over, doing his best not to limp too obviously. He wore a heavy black cloak that didn't quite disguise his emaciated frame.

"My lord?"

The man eyed them, an expression of distaste turning his mouth down at the corners.

"You are Sir Rusl Carverson, the Skyloft knight? And the Copper Cat of Lon-Haven?"

"We are, my lord." Rusl gestured to a seat and the man sat.

"I'm the Copper Cat." Malon thrust a hand across the table and when he didn't move to take it, picked up her tankard instead. "Although you can just call me Malon. The Copper Cat thing, well, it's my meat and gravy but it takes half a bloody day to say it."

"We are told that you have a journey in mind, one that needs a couple of strong sword arms." Rusl waved at the barkeep for more drinks.

"It is a journey, yes, but not a long one. I need to get inside the Keep, to explore its lower chambers." The blond-haired man rested his stick against the table. "There are stories about the Keep and what it contains. I assume you have heard them?"

Rusl nodded.

"Legends, yes, everyone knows them. Even in Skyloft our old women tell tales of the long-dead mages of the Keep."

Malon leaned over the table eagerly.

"I've heard there's an entire hall filled to the ceiling with gold coins and jewels from across Hyrule, and that they had a sword that sang in the presence of demons and a set of armour that summoned an army of ghosts."

Rusl glanced at his colleague before turning back to their client.

"I'm afraid tales are all they're likely to be, my lord."

"All rumours contain an element of truth. The Hyrule council keeps a guard on the one entrance, but I have already taken care of the bribe. My main concern is the interior of the Keep itself." The blond-haired man took a slow breath. "It is said to be a labyrinth in there."

"That is where we may be able to help you." Rusl reached into his belt and pulled out a length of parchment covered in inky squares and circles. "My friend had a map to the Keep, and I have a partial copy. It may get us part of the way at least."

"Where is your friend now?" asked the blond-haired man.

Rusl frowned.

"I don't know. He went ahead without us."

"Then you must assume him dead?"

Rusl looked down at his tankard.

"He is not so easy to kill," he said eventually. "He may still be in there, exploring the lower reaches, or else he has made his way back out again under the cover of night, too ashamed by his failure to seek me out. If we get into the Keep and find him, we can make use of the complete map."

The blond-haired man leaned forward to glance at the parchment, and as his hair fell across his brow Malon saw that there was a gnarled lump of scar tissue in place of one of his ears. It had been cut off and none too carefully either.

"It is a start." He sat back in his chair and looked at them both. Malon didn't like the assessment in that gaze. "Now, if I am to employ you I would ask some questions."

"All you need to know is that we're the best," said Malon with a shrug.

The blond-haired man raised an eyebrow at her, perhaps suggesting that he was yet to be convinced, before turning to Rusl.

"Why did you leave the Skyloft knights?"

"Who says I left?" There was a flicker of anger in Rusl's voice. "I still carry the shield of Sky." He indicated a badge sewn to the shoulder of his cloak. It depicted the outline of a cloud picked out in silver thread against a red, storm-laden sky. There was a series of letters in an alphabet Malon could not read sewn along the bottom, which Rusl had told her spelt Sky. "My sword was blessed at the sky spring of the god-peak."

"Every man I spoke to told me how you were expelled from the order for some unspecified crime. They all knew the truth of this, although none of them knew exactly what it was you had done. I will not go on this journey with a man whose crimes are an unknown factor. I must trust you both to some degree." The blond-haired man glanced at Malon. "And the last I heard, the Knights of Skyloft do not take up petty mercenary work."

Rusl pursed his lips, scowling down at his ale as though it had turned to bile. In the silence the barkeep bustled over bringing three fresh tankards. Rusl waited for him to leave before he spoke again.

"The Order of the Knights of Skyloft, in their wisdom, exiled me. I will not speak of why, but I will tell you that I do not consider what I did to be a crime, and that you are certainly in no danger."

Malon laughed at that. "Let us just say that his idea of brotherhood was not quite the same as his superiors."

Rusl shot her a dark look before turning his attention back to their client.

"You are correct, my lord, raiding temples is hardly a knightly pursuit, but a man trained in the way of the sword has to make a living somehow." His lips creased into a faintly bitter smile.

"Actually, I have a question." Malon took a gulp of ale and belched none too quietly into her hand. "You intend to come with us on this trip to the bowels of the Keep?"

"Of course. It is imperative that I come. There are certain items, certain knowledge that I must acquire."

"Exploring the Keep is likely to be dangerous and exhausting, and that's even if we don't meet with some nasty surprises down in its darkest depths." She turned over a few more cards at random; the ace of wands, the crystal ball, the bear. "We will need to be quick, and strong. And you do not look quick or strong."

The blond-haired man looked down at the table for a moment, every line in his face rigid.

"You do not know me, Malon of Lon-Haven, otherwise you would not ask such a question. I am Lord Link Frith of the Faron, and the Friths are not so easily put aside." Again there was that look, as though he were holding on to a rage he could barely contain. "I'm stronger than I appear."

Malon shrugged.

"Fine. That brings me on to my favourite subject, our fee."

Lord Frith glanced at Rusl and then back to her.

"I have already spoken of this to your contact. We agreed a fee then. I see no reason to negotiate further."

"Oh, I don't know; I enjoy a bit of negotiating myself." Malon winked at Link. "What have we got? Expenses, danger money, a spot of body guarding too, I reckon. Let's go over the details once more for fun, shall we?"

There then followed a protracted argument over their fee that cost Lord Frith the promise of a further eight hundred pieces of gold and Rusl two more rounds of ale. When everything was agreed Malon sat back in her chair feeling pleased with herself; an interesting job for a ridiculous amount of coin, and someone new to argue with.

"That's settled then, we'll leave in the morning. Consider our swords at your service. And the copper promise should always be sealed with a toast." Malon lifted her tankard. "To sacking the Keep!"

Rusl and Link raised their own drinking vessels reluctantly, and she crashed her tankard into theirs, spilling more than a little over Lord Frith's embroidered cuff.

"We'll have such stories to tell."

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A/N: Thanks guys! Please review! Love you all!


	4. Chapter 4

**The Copper Promise: Part one: Ghosts of the Citadel**  
 **By:** Wydrin Williams 178  


 **4**

* * *

"Hyrule is less a city and more an infection," muttered Link as he hobbled his way through the crowded streets.

The Keep was the pustule in the middle of it, rising from the city's heart to stare blindly across the desert lands beyond; the houses and taverns and markets, the brothels and warehouses and gambling dens that grew beneath its walls, were the signs of its feverish pestilence. Even in the early morning light the day was already too hot, and the sun was a white disc in the pale sky.

"A hideous place." He limped around a market stall selling birds roasted on sticks. They'd left the brightly coloured tail feathers on. So many people, so little space. And the _stink_.

"Do you think so?" The mercenary called Malon walked just ahead. "It doesn't smell half as fishy as Lon-haven. Where I'm from this would be considered an especially fragrant day."

Link frowned. "I'm sure it would."

He had heard many stories on his long and painful journey from Faron. The Copper Cat of Lon-haven, they said, was a fearsome swordswoman with flaming red hair, a pair of daggers at her hips and a love of danger almost matched by her love of men and gold. It was said there was no deadlier dagger for hire in all of Lon-haven, and, given the latter's reputation for privateers and scoundrels, that was quite impressive in itself. Her partner, they said, was a cold-eyed killing machine filled with the fury of his icy mountain gods, with as much warmth and mercy as those perilous peaks.

Link had imagined a tall, curvaceous woman, with hair as red as blood tumbling unbidden to her waist, a pair of green eyes as playful and cruel as a cat's, and armour that perhaps did not leave much to the imagination. In truth the Copper Cat was a young woman of average height with long, carroty hair, freckles across her nose and almost every inch of her covered in boiled leather armour. As he watched, she paused to kick a lump of something unmentionable off one of her boots; it didn't appear to make the boots any more presentable.

The Skyloft knight at least looked formidable. Even on such a warm day he wore the traditional armour of his Order, a mixture of boiled black leather, fine mail and silvered plate, and people seemed naturally to move out of his way, like a river flowing around a rock. Other than his size and the enormous broadsword slung across his back, he gave no further impression of barbarism. His face was long-featured and clean-shaven, his eyes clear and blue.

"Have you seen the Sea-Glass Road before, my lord?" Rusl asked.

"I have not. I came to Hyrule from the North, travelling down through Eldin." He opened his mouth to say more, and then thought better of it. "It was an uncomfortable ride."

"It is quite a sight. One of the wonders of Hyrule."

"I am not here to see the sights."

Link had to imagine it was finer to look upon than the streets of Hyrule itself. Timbered alehouses crowded to either side, each belching out a hot wind reeking of stale beer and old vomit. Butchers flung their offal directly into the streets, so that a tide of feral dogs moved from one shop to the other, only pausing to fight over the choicest scraps, and whores dangled out of windows, resting their doughy breasts on windowsills and calling down to the men below. Oxen moved slowly through these streets, hauling wagons piled high with produce rushed across the Gerudo desert from distant Onwai and the island of Lon-haven, whilst traders rushed between them, doing deals on the run. Men and women shouted to each other, children screamed and shrieked, and over it all the baking desert sun beat down, making everything fever-bright and fever-strange.

As they moved closer to the centre of the city the houses grew more ramshackle, the people poorer. The Keep sat at its heart at the top of a small hill, surrounded by the impoverished and the desperate. Although it had been dormant for centuries, no one liked to live too close if they could possibly help it. On quiet nights, they said, you could hear the ghosts calling.

Link found it hard to imagine there could ever be a quiet night in this place.

"There, look, my lord." Link looked where the knight was pointing. Between two warehouses, one of which appeared to have partially burned down recently, he could see a wide strip of startling blue-green, rippled with bright sunlight. It truly was like suddenly coming upon the sea in the middle of the city. At the sight of it he felt his heart quicken, and he forced himself to walk faster. _The path of the gods._

"Good, let us hurry. I have had more than enough of this pestilent city."

When they reached the edge of it, though, Link found that he had to pause. The Sea-Glass Road swept up through the city of Hyrule like a great frozen river, the surface warped and glossy, and it was indeed an arresting sight. The heat shimmered off it in waves, and if you could bear to look for long enough you could follow its path up the hill to where the Keep crouched, red stone and black shadows under a merciless sun.

Link reached down and quickly massaged his stiff leg. It was already aching from the walk through the city.

Malon appeared at his side, her hands on her hips. She, too, glanced up towards the Haunted Keep, and nodded as though this were exactly what she was expecting.

"How about it, princeling? Race you to the top?"

* * *

Malon took the lead. Rusl and Link followed behind, the latter taking great care on the slippery surface beneath his feet, the discomfort evident on his face. After a few moments Malon paused, letting them catch up with her.

Unfortunately for Link, the Sea-Glass Road was the only way into the Keep. The four iron gates set into the red-stone walls had long since been soldered shut to keep out the curious and the greedy, whereas the Sea-Glass Road ran straight up from the Hyrule Sea, across the sands and up to the very walls of the Keep, meeting a wide stretch of broken masonry. It was a curious thing, wide enough for ten of the heaviest carts to roll up it side by side, if the horses could abide walking on the warped, shiny surface. Most of them disliked it as much as Link. It was sufficiently steep so that even Malon in her tough leather boots was making slow progress. The glass beneath her feet was a deep green, like the sea it was named after, and the early morning sun created shimmering white lakes of light ahead.

"Who would put such an awkward thing here?"

"You mean you do not know?" asked Link.

"I have told her," said Rusl, in a weary tone. "But she does not listen."

"Nonsense," she replied, cheerfully. Rusl was always talking about some old history or another, how was she to know which ones were worth listening to? "You've never mentioned such a road. I swear it on my claws." She patted the sheathed daggers at her waist.

"Here, then, stop and listen."

They paused. The city of Hyrule pressed in on either side of the Sea-Glass Road, like ports against a river, and here and there someone had tried to set up a business on the rippled surface, but it was hard going. They had passed a couple already, men selling red meat on sticks or cold glasses of spiced milk, but the sellers were all frazzled-looking and exhausted. No one attempted to make a living on the slopes closest to the Keep: they were too close to the guards, and too close to the ghosts. The road itself stretched far into the distance, passing out of the city and dwindling to a slim green thread. On the horizon was the sapphire-blue band that marked the Hyrule Sea.

"It's a long damn thing," she said, covering her eyes with one hand to better see the road. They could still smell smoke from the city below, the occasional whiff of sweet spices from the meat sellers, and a slight hint of salt from the sea.

"It grows no shorter as we stand here," put in Link. He was wearing a black woollen tunic and a black cloak, with leather boots gone grey with travel. Leaning heavily on his stick, he looked less than comfortable in the heat. Rusl, however, who had grown up surrounded by books and histories, was getting the look he got when he had a story to tell. He pointed to the beginning of the Sea-Glass Road in the far distance.

"This was all sand too, once, thousands of years ago. But then there was a war between the gods and the mages, one that threatened to wipe out all life in Hyrule. In desperation, the great mages of that time gathered together all of their most powerful weapons, all of their most mysterious and dangerous artefacts, and built a Keep to protect them. When word reached the gods that such a cache of power was hidden in a human Keep, they raced across the Hyrule Sea to get here, churning up the land as they went so that it fused and turned to glass. But it was all a trap. Once inside they could not get back out again, and so the war was ended."

"And all the artefacts remain. All the ancient seals of power," continued Link. "Yes, it is a fine story."

Malon shrugged. The Sea-Glass Road was certainly impressive, an extraordinary natural formation perhaps.

"In Lon-haven we prefer stories about pirates and sea-nymphs, or the salt-spirits and the Graces. Usually, a salt-spirit will turn himself into a human man for the day, and get some fish-wife pregnant. That sort of thing. There's normally a song or two in the middle."

Rusl sighed.

"Let's keep moving, shall we?"

* * *

It was a hard climb, and at the very top they were met with the equally hard faces of the guards. There were four in all, patrolling the broken expanse of outer wall that marked the end of the Sea-Glass Road. The inner walls of the Keep rose behind them, and above that the fat drum-shaped bulk of the central building itself, all constructed from the same dull, red stones. The place was certainly large, impressive even, but hardly opulent enough to be the prison of gods, Malon thought. The first guard approached them, a tall, lean man with a neat grey beard and dark circles under his eyes. He had a spear in his hand but he wasn't pointing it at them. Malon thought that could all change fairly quickly. The three other guards watched closely from their positions on the wall; two men of middling age and one younger lad, who was watching them with eyebrows that disappeared beneath his half-helm. Malon suspected he'd probably only been in the job for a month at most.

"Lost, are we?" cried Vincent. There was a suggestion of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "The taverns and whorehouses are back down there a ways."

They drew level with him.

"No doubt you know of the best pillow houses, Vincent," said Malon, giving him her cheeriest grin. "Tell me, do they grant discounts to the greatly aged?"

Vincent's little smile faltered somewhat.

"You tell me. Are you feeling generous today, whoreling?"

Rusl cleared his throat.

"Apologies for my colleague," he said. "We are here on business, actually."

The three other guards were edging closer, intrigued. Malon suspected that usually trespassers were quickly chased off with a spear point in the ear for their trouble.

"What business could that be? No one's got business in the Keep save for the dead, and you all look a little too lively for that." He looked at Link, and shrugged. "Save for the cripple here, maybe."

The blond-haired young man bristled visibly, his eyes narrowing.

"I am Lord Link Frith of the Faron. I have spoken to the Hyrule Council and agreed a price. You should have been informed of this."

Vincent leaned on his spear, rubbing his chin. He made a great show of looking off into the distance, searching the edge of the horizon for something known only to him, and then finally shook his head.

"Can't say I have, actually."

Inwardly, Malon sighed. She couldn't abide a man who could not summon up a decent falsehood.

Link stepped forward awkwardly, his stick skittering on the glass.

"I'm telling you, guard," he spat the word, "the bribe has been paid. Now stand aside."

The three other guards were now at Vincent's back. Malon caught the eye of the young nervous one and gave him a wink. He looked momentarily terrified, and tore his gaze away.

"Well, maybe a bribe has been paid," said Vincent slowly. "Maybe it has, maybe to someone who isn't me. Maybe that there is your problem."

"What?"

Rusl held up his hands, palms out.

"I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement. We are adventurers, after all, and we may-"

"I am not paying this man a single coin," snapped Link. "He is a vulture, picking at the carcass of someone else's deal."

"Right, well." Malon slid her daggers from their sheaths, letting the early morning light play along their silvery blades. The young guard's eyes nearly popped out of his head, but his two companions only drew their own weapons, two notched short swords. Malon grinned at the sight of them. "I said we should do this in the first place, didn't I? Easier just to kill them."

Rusl sighed. "You did not say that. You said that if we did that-"

"I changed my mind. It's been a slow morning and I am easily bored. You, fresh-meat. Would you like to die first?" She held up one of her daggers, showing it to the youngest guard. "This one is called Frostling, and the other is Ashes."

"That's the Copper Cat," he blurted. "She'll kill us all, and take our bodies back to Lon-haven to feed to the Graces!"

Triumphant, Malon turned to smile at Rusl.

"And you said that rumour wouldn't stick"

"Enough of this." Link hobbled forward, coming face to face with the head guard. "I've paid our way, and paid well. Now get out of my path."

Malon hefted the weight of her daggers, watching Link closely. He was standing his ground, his gaze unwavering, and she saw no fear on his face. Vincent wasn't as impressed with Link's bluster, however, and he lowered his spearhead to point at the young lord's gut.

"Bloodshed will serve none of us." Rusl inserted himself between the guard and Link, and for the first time they seemed to take note of his size, and the shining broadsword slung across his back. "Malon, please. Put your claws away for now."

Malon rolled her eyes, but did as he bid. In return, Rusl glowered at Vincent until he lowered the spear.

"Go on past, then. You won't last till midday. No one comes out of there alive, everyone knows that. All you adventurer types, with your big shiny swords, your plate armour and your empty heads you all die down in the dust somewhere."

Malon walked calmly past the guards, pausing to lay one hand on the shoulder of the youngest. "I'll remember that when I'm reclining on silken pillows in my own marble palace. I shall say, the ugly guard told me I would come to this, and I did not listen." She gave him another wink while the boy gaped at her.

Vincent spat in the dust by her boot.

"There would have been another man, some weeks back," said Rusl. "Did you see him come past?"

"I saw him, aye, young idiot. Blond hair and more knives than sense. He hasn't come back, either, and neither will you." When they looked at him blankly, he waved them on with his spear. "Go on, then, go and get yourselves killed. It's no skin off my arse."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reader. As always, please review for ways I can improve. Love you all!


	5. Chapter 5

**The Copper Promise: Part One: Ghosts of the Citadel**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**  


* * *

 **5**  


Round the corner and out of sight of the guards, they walked within the shadow of the inner walls. Here and there were piles of sand, blown up by the desert winds and left stranded. Spindly plants with long needle-like leaves had sprouted colonies where the stonework had started to crumble. Rusl looked at the walls and thought of his father. _He would have said it was a wonder_ , he thought. _What would he say if he knew I was standing here today in front of one of the greatest man-made structures Hyrule has ever seen?_

His father had spent his whole life working with stone; breaking it, sculpting it, shaping it to his will. Perhaps everything would have been simpler if he'd just gone into the family business as his father had wanted in the first place. _If the sky hadn't spoken to me, if the Skyloft knights hadn't taken me in._ He felt a stab of mingled bitterness and longing at the thought of home; the grey stones of the squire house and the treacherous training slopes, all dusted with snow. _I live my own life now_ , Rusl reminded himself.

Link appeared at his side, still scowling after their skirmish with the guards.

"I believe we'll have need of your map soon, for what it's worth," he said, pointing to the walls ahead of them. "I don't want to wander about needlessly."

A huge ornate archway stood in front of them, partially fallen into rubble. As faded as they were it was just possible to see the shapes that had been carved directly into the red stone; heroes with swords, strange animals with more teeth than legs, men who appeared to be half dog, women who appeared to be half fish. Their faces were rubbed smooth and expressionless by the passage of time, as though they couldn't bear to look upon the place they inhabited. Through the archway a series of low walls formed a sort of maze, which led towards the huge drum-shaped building that squatted at the centre of it all. Once there had been small lawns and rockeries between the walls, but now there was only dirt and weeds, with the occasional lonely statue missing a limb or two.

"That looks to be the way," said Malon. The desert sun had turned her hair the colour of beaten gold. "Let's get in there, shall we?"

Link nodded and drew his cloak closer around his shoulders, and despite the heat of the day Rusl felt a shiver work its way down his spine. There was an ill feeling here, a quiet sense of anticipation, of loneliness, that felt quite out of place so close to the city. He thought of Pipit coming this way, full of excitement for what he was about to find.

They walked through the archway and into the ruined gardens. Link, still leaning on his stick, chose the path dictated by the low walls, but Malon climbed over them, heading in a straight line for the heart of the Keep. Rusl followed behind Link, in truth in no hurry to put a stone ceiling over his head. Out here, at least, he could hear the harsh cries of the gulls overhead, and the fat, lazy hum of desert bees. Passing by an overgrown salt-rose bush he heard the slither and hiss of a snake moving in its lower branches, and caught a brief glance of glittering red scales; a ruby adder.

"There are snakes, Malon. Keep an eye out, if you must go traipsing through the undergrowth."

"Ha!" cried Malon, drawing one of her daggers. "Cats are faster than snakes."

"Cats don't have venom in their claws."

He caught up with Link. There was a thin sheen of sweat on the young man's brow already, and his mouth was turned down at the corners with the effort of walking at such a pace. _So angry_ , thought Rusl. _He reminds me of me, a few years ago_. Up close, Rusl was surprised to see how young Link looked. He'd done his best to hide the extent of what had happened to him, but Rusl had sharp eyes, and when the winds were gusting out on the Sea-Glass Road he'd seen the terrible hole that had once been Lord Frith's ear. _An angry man indeed._

Link caught him staring, and scowled. Malon was off in front, hacking at bushes with her daggers.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, my lord. Just contemplating the journey ahead."

I'll get no m'lords off that one," he said, nodding towards the Copper Cat.

Rusl had to smile. "I suspect you won't, no."

"Do you trust her? Is she trustworthy?"

Rusl looked up to the sky, still a bright, blameless blue. In Skyloft the sky was often that blue, but the air was always fresh. Here, the air smelled like a dung heap left to fester.

"Inside that ratty bag she wears across her back there is a pack of cards," he said quietly. "Eventually she will ask you if you fancy a quick game of Poison Sally. Find an excuse not to play. Don't tell her you don't know the rules, she'll only offer to teach you, and then you'll be truly done for. But outside of card games? No more untrustworthy than your usual sell-sword."

"I am greatly reassured," said Link sourly. "And how did a knight of Skyloft come to be partners with a card shark?"

Rusl thought of the chaotic time just after he'd left the Order, and frowned.

"It's a long story, my lord, and quite tedious, I assure you."

Link shot him a look, but said nothing.

Just ahead of them Malon now stood by the great curving bulk of the inner keep, rubbing her fingers lightly over the red stones.

"They're cold," she said, a note of wonder in her voice. "Come, touch them."

Rusl did so, pressing his hand to the wall. It was cool, just as though the Keep did not crouch under the punishing sun every hour of the day, but there was something else too a vibration? Rusl frowned, trying to place it, but Link stepped up next to them and whacked the wall with his stick.

"We are not here to caress the Keep, we are here to crack it. Where is the nearest entrance?"

Rusl took his hands away, trying to ignore how the stones had unsettled him. He took the unfinished map from his belt and unfolded it to the light.

"There is a door," he said, tracing the lines with a finger. "There is a door to the right of us. We must keep walking."

* * *

They circled the inner keep until they found the entrance. It was difficult to miss; debris from it was strewn across their path, and pieces of the door stuck out jaggedly like a row of broken teeth.

"This is made of ebony," said Link, looking closely at the remains of the entrance. Rusl thought to mention that they were not there to caress the doors, but knew that would only encourage Malon to say something worse. "It only grows in Hyrule."

"Expensive door, then," said Malon. "Someone made short work of it, though."

"That would have been Pipit," said Rusl.

Once the door had stood a good ten feet tall, the wood a foot thick and banded with iron. Now it was a pile of pricey timber and twisted slag. Rusl was glad to see such a sign of his friend s passage, but it also made him uneasy. There was no doubt now that Pipit had been there, and no doubt he'd entered the Keep. So where was he?

Beyond the shattered door there was a dusty floor surrounded by deep shadows.

"How?" asked Link. He ran his gloved hand over a sprouting of splinters.

"There is a certain black powder you can buy in Lon-haven," said Rusl. "Mixed with a number of other chemicals, it becomes-"

"Explosive, yes." Link nodded. "I have some knowledge of this. Still, to bring such a quantity of it across the desert that would be a dangerous task indeed."

Rusl nodded.

"Pipit liked to take the occasional risk. Likes, I mean."

"Well," Malon slapped Link on the shoulder, nearly sending him face first through the entrance, shall we get in there? I'm all for standing around discussing the whys and wherefores, but I'd rather save that until we've some idea of what we're dealing with.

* * *

Inside, the desert sun became a distant dream. Rusl wore several layers of clothing; smallclothes, tunic, leather armour, chainmail, and on top of it all a heavy black cloak, but even he felt a cold chill creep down the back of his neck as they stepped over the threshold. Malon, who habitually wore a long shirt under her boiled leather bodice, frowned and hugged herself. The room they entered was wide and spacious, and there were three doorways on the far side, each with steps leading down. On the walls there were rough carvings, partly hidden by dust and shadows, but Rusl could just about make out shapes suggesting animals and people, and an alphabet he couldn't decipher. Motes of dust and sand swirled in the daylight streaming through the door.

"We take the door to the right," he said, trying to sound more certain than he felt. "That should take us into the lowest chamber we can access at this point. These others lead only to the floor beneath this, and if we are going by the stories, the mages kept all their greatest artefacts at the very bottom of the Keep."

Link pulled a small glass oil lamp from the bag at his belt and carefully lit it. Warm orange light spilled onto the stone floor.

"The haunted Keep awaits"

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading guys! As always, please review! Love you all!


	6. Chapter 6

**The Copper Promise: Part One: Ghosts of the Citadel**  
 **By:** Wydrin Williams 178

* * *

 **6**

* * *

They walked. And walked. And walked some more. The steps were wide enough for the three of them to walk abreast, but Link tended to move in front, setting the pace and lighting the way. Malon would pause now and then to scratch a great cross on the wall with the point of her dagger, marking their progress in case they should need to head back that way in a hurry. Sometimes the steps would turn, left then right again, and sometimes they would level out for a while, but always they were heading gradually downwards.

"So, what is it you hope to find at the bottom of these steps, princeling?" asked Malon, after they had been walking for around an hour. "I thought that princelings had treasure enough already."

Even in the inconstant light Link's scowl was impossible to miss.

"Do not call me that. You only need concern yourself with reaching our goal. What I choose to do with what we discover is none of your business."

"Oh, I don't know. I think it could be my business. Everyone knows this place is haunted. Everyone knows that no one makes it out of here alive. We're putting ourselves in considerable danger, for you. I think that sort of makes it my business." Malon patted the daggers on her belt. "What is so important that you would pay us to brave the ghosts of the Keep?"

Link grunted.

"Ghosts, indeed. It's all nonsense. Stories made up by fools who don't understand what they're dealing with. The mages have left more than their treasures behind, and if there are voices in the walls, it is only evidence of their magic."

Malon sniffed.

"That's what you're after, then, is it?"

Link fell silent.

"I'm sure I don't know either way," said Rusl. "But if anywhere were to be a home to ghosts, I think it would be this place."

At the bottom of the steps was, finally, a door. As they approached, Rusl waved a hand at them to stop.

"There is a light," he said, squinting to see. "Through the crack in the door."

Weak, shimmering light moved at its edge. Link pulled his cloak over the lamp and they could see it even more clearly.

"What is that?" asked Malon.

"I do not know," said Rusl. After a moment's pause, he drew the sword from its scabbard on his back. "But we may not be alone down here."

 _Let it be Pipit,_ he thought. _Let it be him.  
_

* * *

They approached the door, Rusl leading. Malon strained her ears, trying to gather any clues about what might be in the next room. Rusl turned to her and nodded. She returned his nod, and rested one hand on a dagger. Rusl would enter first. It was difficult to miss him, with his height and broad shoulders, and while any potential attackers were watching the broadsword in his hands, she would slip in behind; small, slim, unthreatening. People would often only notice the daggers she wore when one of them was buried to the hilt in their throats.

Rusl pushed the door open, stepped through, and uttered a low cry of surprise. Malon rushed in behind him, blades in hand, and then stopped dead, staring at what met them. She felt Link step in close behind her.

"By all the gods what are they?" said Link in amazement.

They stood in a room vastly different to any they'd seen before. The walls were of brown marble, and hanging from the high ceiling were yellow lamps, casting soft light over row upon row of strange glass capsules. They were partially sunk into an earthen floor, and each of them contained a small, pale figure, no bigger than a child. The room was long, and there must have been around fifty of the smooth glass tanks. There was a strong chemical smell, reminding Malon of the apothecary shop to which her father would sometimes send her on errands.

"Are they dead?" Whatever they were, she did not like it.

Rusl stepped up to the nearest capsule and knelt, peering closely at the occupant.

"I don't know what they are," he said eventually. "Look at their faces, they look… unfinished, somehow. They all look the same."

Malon joined him at the side of the glass. The figure within was so pale he seemed almost translucent, the skin on his smooth cheeks looking thin enough to break and reveal the dark flesh beneath. He had no hair, no eyebrows, no blemishes, and rather than clothing he was wrapped in what appeared to be soft white bandages, from his wrists down to his ankles. Malon peered closely. It looked as though there had once been writing on the bandages, but the ink had faded with time to a pale, unreadable yellow. The figure was very still.

Link tapped on the glass with his stick, and Malon winced, suddenly afraid that he would wake it.

"A mystery," he said. "What _are_ they? Some remnant of the mages?"

"We are soldiers in an ongoing war."

The voice came from the far side of the room; a figure identical to the creatures in the capsules stood in the doorway. As they watched, he walked rapidly towards them, his soft feet making barely any sound on the dirt floor. Malon raised her blades.

"Not so fast, little man."

The creature did not slow, but came on until he stood on the other side of the glass capsule. His eyes were like almond-shaped pools of black ink. Looking down at his brother in the tank, he nodded as though satisfied and looked up at the trio of surprised adventurers.

"Leave now. Seals have been broken. We no longer hold the perimeter."

"What are you?" demanded Link. "Who are you to tell us to retreat?"

Another of the pale child-men appeared in the far door, and another. They, too, entered the room, walking swiftly without noise.

"I am known as Makar. My brothers, Linder and Rown."

"Well, Rowl and Lin-thing, I'd keep back." Malon glanced behind her, suddenly convinced there would be more of the pale men sneaking in behind them, but the doorway was dark. "We mean to go through this chamber and out the other side. We'll just let the rest of your family here sleep."

"No, no place for you here," the creature called Linder said. His voice was a touch higher than his brother's, but it was the only difference between them. "There is danger, death."

Malon laughed.

"I love it when people say things like that. You know that is only meat and bread to adventurers such as ourselves?"

"Malon..." said Rusl, a note of warning in his voice.

"Dust and death," said Makar. "Darkness and evil. The power that waits below is truly awake again for the first time in centuries."

"Power?" said Link. "What power is this?"

"The one that sleeps," Linder said, shaking his head. "Her agents are moving through the Keep. If they meet you, you will become hers too."

The three pale men moved forward as one then, as though to physically push them from the chamber. Rusl raised his sword, resting its point a few inches from Makar's throat.

"Tell us what you are, and we _may_ leave."

The one called Rown sighed, and Malon noticed a small cloud of dust emerge from his mouth.

"We are Kokiri. The mages made us to wait forever in the dark, guarding the seals and holding the perimeter. To watch over the gods they imprisoned."

"But the seals are broken, and the perimeter..." The Kokiri known as Linder shook his head anxiously.

"Are you saying there are _gods_ are down there?" Malon could not keep the scorn from her voice.

"Only one," said Makar. "She has eaten the others."

Malon laughed again.

"They have gone mad, down here in the dark."

"It is the mages we are interested in," said Link. There was a feverish light to his eyes now. "What is left of their power? Of their artefacts? Can you tell us?"

"There is a lake-" began Linder, but the Kokiri called Makar silenced him with a look.

"Enough," he said. "Her agents move. You will leave now."

"Wait," said Rusl. "I had a friend, he came here before me. Blond hair, ridiculous little beard. There would have been a guide with him..."

"No, no, no," said Rown. "No more talk. Leave now. We must protect the Keep."

"I mean to have the secrets of the mages," said Link. "You will not turn us aside."

"Then we stand against you."

Makar held his arms out to them, and for a bizarre moment Malon thought he wanted to be picked up, like a small child tired of walking, but a pair of vicious-looking blades pushed their way through the palms of his hands, each a full foot long. There was no blood at the separating of his flesh, only a thin stream of dark dust.

"What are you?" cried Malon, but then the other two stepped forward with identical weapons shooting from their own hands. And from behind them came the creaking of elderly hinges as the glass cases began to open.

The next few minutes passed in a panicked blur for Malon. The Kokiri were unnaturally fast, running and jumping at them with the speed of birds in flight. She narrowly avoided one strike from Linder by stumbling backwards, but he was immediately replaced by Rown, and then she lost track of which Kokiri was which. She brought her claws up in time to stop her throat being opened and pushed back against the Kokiri with all her strength. He skidded back across the floor, but it was then she noticed that more of the bandaged men were climbing out of their glass beds, every one of them sprouting long, shining spikes from the palms of their hands, even as they were blinking away their artificial sleep.

"Stop this!" yelled Rusl as he cut his way through them, his sword a blur in front of him.

Malon had time to see a Kokiri cut in half by that blade, saw the dust and rags that made up its insides, and then they were on her again, three at once. A slash from a razor-sharp sword caught her across the forearm, but it only sliced open her shirt. _Whatever they are_ , she thought, _they attacked us. And I don't even owe them money._

Kicking one in the legs, she plunged Frostling down through the bandages at the base of his neck as he bent over, grunting with satisfaction as the strange flesh yielded. The Kokiri fell to the ground in a boneless heap, but two of his brothers circled her, constantly moving.

"Come on, children of worms," she said cheerfully. The next Kokiri lunged at her, bringing his swords together in a double-point, but she stepped away from it so that it only scraped against her boiled leather armour. While he was within her reach she brought the pommel of her dagger down hard on the top of his skull which, to her surprise, caved in as though made of plaster. He went to his knees, and she took the opportunity to slit his papery throat.

"What are you made of, spit and paste?" she laughed, but the third Kokiri wasn't content to listen to her taunting. He ran at her, eyes like empty holes, and his first blade was only turned away by the thin mail over her leather vest. The second he threw up towards her face, and for a terrible moment Malon thought she'd lose her nose, but Rusl was there, pulling the Kokiri off her by the scruff of his neck.

"Bastard thing nearly had my face off," she had time to say before they were rushed by five more. It was around this point that Malon thought to wonder how Link was faring. She saw him some distance away, his blond hair the brightest thing in the room. He was leaning awkwardly on the wall, but he had a rapier in his hands and was holding the Kokiri at bay, the blade almost moving too quickly for her to follow.

 _Where did that come from?_

There were dead Kokiri by his feet, but even from where she stood she could see the exhaustion on his face.

She hacked, and slashed, parried and stabbed, over and over, until her shoulders began to sing from the ache of it. She stole glances at Rusl occasionally, shouted encouragement or mockery, but his face was closed and still, as it always was during a fight. The Kokiri just kept coming, always pushing them back towards the door, stepping over the torn bodies of their brothers and producing their strange blades from within their bodies. Malon felt sweat begin to trickle down her back. They were trying to press them back, towards the exit, and they were succeeding. _They might be short and strange-looking, but they are so many, and for every one, two blades._ Malon took a breath, preparing to tell Rusl it was time to run for it, when there was a shuddering crash and the chamber was filled with bright, greenish light. She almost lost her footing, but when she looked up she saw around fifteen freshly dead Kokiri, and Link standing beyond a veil of smoke.

"What the hell was that?"

Malon saw hope in Rusl's eyes and knew he was thinking of Pipit, but as she watched, Link reached into his cloak with his free hand and produced something small and round. He threw it on the ground nearest a group of the Kokiri and there was another bang. This time, Malon saw the brief burst of green flame and the curling cloud it produced. Several of the Kokiri were thrown back by the initial impact, but those who were caught in the cloud began to writhe and scream, their powdery white skins turning black. The Kokiri who were attacking them paused in their efforts, looking back at their brothers in apparent horror.

"What are you doing?" she cried, but Link, apparently seeing them both for the first time, motioned impatiently for them to take cover. Hurriedly she threw herself into the corner, before Link hurled another of his grenades right into the midst of the stunned Kokiri. This time the explosion was so close it made her ears ring, and she cringed away from the poisonous cloud.

The Kokiri that were left turned and fled then, back through the far door where Makar and Linder had first appeared. Malon slid down the wall, exhausted. Link came over to them, his slim sword thick with black dust and tattered pieces of bandages. She watched him retrieve his stick from the floor, and slide the blade back into its hiding place. The Copper Cat of Lon-haven began to laugh.

"So why did you employ us at all, princeling?"

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading, guys! Please comment.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Copper Promise - Part one: Ghosts of the Citadel**  
 **By** : Wydrin Williams 178  


* * *

 **7**

They had left the chamber of the Kokiri, moving slowly, wary of another attack. Now they walked through a series of low-ceilinged rooms, many of which contained empty glass tanks. Link saw several that seemed to hold Kokiri who had not lived long enough to protect their precious Keep; they were mouldering piles of bandages, dust, and short, rusted blades. Why those ones had not survived he couldn't say, but there had certainly been enough of them to cause trouble. He watched carefully, searching every shadow for a hidden assailant, until his head began to ache. Every part of Link ached. His right arm and shoulder were especially tender; it had been a very long time since he'd swung a sword in defence of his own life, and the sell-sword woman seemed amused that he could fight at all.

"Your clothes are torn," he said.

Malon looked down at her forearm and seemed surprised to see her shirt had been shredded by the Kokiri blades.

"Huh. They did all that, and never managed to cut me. Useless."

With a sharp tug she pulled the remains of her sleeve away from the rest of her shirt, revealing a tattoo that curled all the way to the top of her shoulder.

"Horses?" asked Link when finally the pattern was revealed. There were three of them depicted in slim black lines, twisting sinuously around her arm.

"The Graces," replied Malon, holding her arm out. "The Three Graces of Lon-haven."

"Your gods are horses?"

"Not gods, as such, more … priestesses. The Field is the only god we worship. If you come back to Lon-haven with me, I will show you."

To his own horror, Link felt his cheeks grow slightly warm. '"Why would I want to go to that pirates' den?"

"You don't want to, believe me," said Rusl. "Anyone outside of Lon-haven tends to find the rites of the Graces somewhat grisly. Or anyone with any sense, anyway."

Rather than looking offended, Malon laughed.

"It makes for a good day out," she said. "Besides, our princeling here has a stronger stomach than you give him credit for, Rusl. There were bits of those dwarves all over that chamber by the end of it."

"Yes," agreed Rusl. He gave her an appraising look. "You realise your other sleeve is torn too, on the back?" She twisted round to look, and swore. "That shirt is ruined." He turned back to Link as the Copper Cat began to tug her shirt out from under her leather bodice. "What were those spheres you were throwing? And what was in them?"

Link hurriedly averted his eyes from Malon, who was now pulling the remnants of the ruined material over her head, and in doing so revealing more cleavage than he thought was seemly in a sword for hire. He took one of the remaining acid grenades from within his cloak and passed it to the knight.

"Handle it carefully. You have to throw them quite violently for the chemical process to begin, but it is always best to assume they are dangerous. There is the initial explosion, of course, which is enough to cause a reasonable amount of damage, and then the acidic cloud that spreads afterwards, certainly the more unpleasant way to die. Fortunately, it disperses quickly, or we'd all have boiled lungs by now."

"Where did you get these from?"

Rusl was turning the ball over in his hand. They were small, innocuous-looking things, round and greenish, with a slightly greasy texture. If you made enough of them your fingers started to turn green. Link's father, who had spent much of his time studying chemicals and their uses, always had faintly green fingertips despite every effort with a scrubbing brush. His study, Link remembered, always carried the slightly caustic whiff of his experiments. All gone now, of course.

"I have some education in the alchemical arts."

"Very bloody handy," said Malon. She'd removed her shirt, and now her arms were bare save for the leather vanbraces and copper bracelets at her wrists. "As was that hidden sword. Our princeling has many secrets, it seems."

Link clutched his stick, ignoring the steady ache in his shoulder.

"And they are still none of your concern."

They continued on through the next series of chambers, occasionally pausing to consult what they could of Rusl's map. They were sloping gradually downwards still, and the further down they went, the warmer it grew. Link's heavy black cloak was stifling, seeming to push down on his back with every step, but he would not take it off. To do that would reveal his thin, wasted body, and even if his companions already knew he was weak, he was not ready for them to see the full extent of the damage.

Malon took his arm suddenly, startling him.

"You were miles away then. Care to tell us what you were thinking, with your handsome face so tense?"

Link shook her off awkwardly.

"A man's thoughts are his own."

Malon sighed.

"And curiosity killed the cat."

She walked off ahead, pausing to scratch another cross on the wall before moving on, eager to see what was through the next door. The queer golden lights of the Kokiri chamber had continued beyond it, so that they no longer needed the oil lamp.

"You fascinate her, I think," said Rusl in a low voice. "She has a weakness for mysterious men." Link pulled his cloak closer around him.

" have no reason to reveal my business to her."

"I don't know about that." Rusl's tone was light. "We're down here with you, aren't we? Fighting side by side. Would it be so terrible to let us in on your plans?"

"You know all you need to know," said Link.

The big knight was quiet for a few moments. When he spoke again his tone was one of mild speculation.

"If the tales of what is hidden here are even partially true, it would be a significant find. The remnants of magic could still be powerful. A man could do a lot with such power."

Link frowned, not looking at the knight.

"You are perceptive, and free with your words. Is that why your Copper Cat likes you?"

Rusl chuckled.

"If only Malon listened to half of what I said. I told you, she likes mysteries, not explanations."

"You two are not … lovers, then?"

This time Rusl guffawed, his surprised laughter echoing off the flat stones. Link turned to him, raising an eyebrow. Seeing the look, Rusl reined in his laughter, and shook his head in apology.

"I'm sorry, my lord. Malon is a good friend, that is all. But I do not … I do not believe I am her type, as it were."

Link took a deep breath.

"Whereabouts are we?" he said. "What does the map tell you?"

Rusl held the sheet of parchment up to the light. After a few moments, he frowned.

"We've gone off course, actually. That's what comes of letting Malon go ahead, I suppose. We'll have to turn back, take another turning." He cupped his hands round his mouth and called his companion. "Malon! We have to go back a bit!"

They heard her light footsteps on the floor before she came through the door.

"Got us lost already, Rusl?"

"Come on."

As they turned to retrace their steps, the floor beneath them rumbled, nearly throwing Link off his feet.

"What is that?" cried Malon.

The low grinding below continued, growing in volume until dust and debris on the ground began to jump with the vibrations.

"The door," said Rusl. "Quick!"

But before they could reach it an iron portcullis swept down, its sharp points hitting the floor with a crash. The way back was cut off.

Link and Rusl tried desperately to pull the portcullis up, but its bars were solid and heavy, despite their age.

"But the Kokiri wanted us to leave," said Rusl. "Why would they cut off our retreat?"

"Maybe they're not the only ones in the Keep," said Malon. Her usually cheerful face was troubled. "They did say they were fighting a war, and it didn't sound as though they were winning."

Link nodded reluctantly.

"We must carry on, then," he said. Their progress was slow, much too slow. "Is there a way we can turn around later, according to what we have of the map?"

Rusl looked at it again, and shrugged.

"In all honesty, if we keep heading in this direction this piece of parchment becomes more useful as lantern fuel. I just didn't get enough time to copy it this far."

Link shook his head.

"It matters not. It seems there is only one way we can go now."

And so they did, now wary that each entrance might contain another portcullis. The passages were growing narrower, the walls danker and lined with moss and mould. There was an old, dark smell, that spoke of centuries of neglect, and the deeper they went the more Link fancied he could feel the weight of the stones above pressing down on them. Every now and then they heard a faint but unmistakable rumble, and a vibration would pass through the stones and up through their feet.

"Is it following us, do you think?" said Malon after a while. She had paused to take a drink from the skin at her belt. When she passed it to Link, he was surprised to find it filled with a sour red wine.

"Is what following us?"

"The noise, that movement. Whatever you want to call it." She slapped the wall to her left. "It's like something very large is moving alongside us, watching what we're up to."

"That's preposterous," said Link, his voice slightly unsteady. He looked at the walls, and wondered what would happen if something powerful decided to push them down on their defenceless group.

"The sooner we get out of these passageways, the happier I'll be," said Rusl. He was looking distinctly less comfortable the further down they went. There was sweat on his forehead now, and his mouth was tense at the corners, almost as though he were concentrating very hard on not being sick. "It's all too narrow. If we get caught here there's no room to fight." To Rusl's obvious relief they eventually came to an entrance that led down to a widening set of stone steps. The room beyond was larger than any they'd been in for hours, its floor covered in big square flagstones. On the far side was another set of steps leading to a tall wooden door, and the yellow lamps hanging from the ceiling revealed a pair of carvings in the dark grained wood: a nude woman emerging from a great lake, water running from her cupped hands, and on the other side, a naked man doing the same. Malon hooted with amusement.

"Filthy buggers!" She walked down the steps onto the square flagstones. "Someone has put a lot of work into that. I've never seen one of those where they've actually managed to get the shape—"

"The mages were said to be great artisans," said Link, hurriedly.

"Artisans with an eye for a decent pair of—"

Without warning, Malon pitched forward violently. Rusl made to grab her, but he also lurched to one side. Link opened his mouth to shout to them when the flagstone beneath his feet dropped several inches, causing him to fall heavily onto the stone floor. He cracked his elbow badly, but worse than that was the sickening sense of movement; the stones beneath were rising and falling as though they were being disturbed by something below.

"Careful!" shouted Rusl. "Something's pushing up through the stones."

They were all in the centre of the room, too far from either set of steps for immediate safety. Link climbed awkwardly to his feet, leaning on his walking stick. Now he could see it. A glowing green substance was pushing up through the joins between the stones, pushing them apart like a great eldritch sea. The flagstone he had his weight on tilted to one side and his boot was briefly doused in the substance. There was a hissing sound, and the scent of boiling leather.

"Don't touch it," he said, his voice hoarse with panic. "It burns."

Malon was swearing loudly and attempting to hop from one flagstone to another, but many were already sinking beneath the green lava, leaving her fewer and fewer places to step. Rusl was faring even worse, his size and the weight of his sword keeping him off balance. The edge of his cloak was already smoking from contact with the liquid.

Link jumped awkwardly from one stone to the next, each step sending a stab of pain up his weak leg. His limbs felt numb from the previous sword fight and he had nothing to lean his stick against. Cold sweat ran down the back of his neck.

"There's something else here!" Malon was closest to the far side, but she had stopped in front of a wide trench of the treacherous green goo and seemed unable to go further. "Something under the slime!"

"What?"

As Link watched, the surface of the poisonous pool began to seethe, and a long shape disturbed the surface. It was sinuous and thick with muscle, and barbs bristled from its slimy skin. From all around them came a loud chittering sound that made all the hairs on the back of Link's neck stand up. Malon drew her daggers and balanced herself as best she could, but the shape under the green surged towards her, revealing a long tapering tentacle with sharp, teeth-lined mouths on the underside. It swept at her feet, trying to knock her into the slime, but she jumped over it and brought both daggers down on its fleshy hide. The chittering turned briefly into squealing and it retreated rapidly beneath the surface. Malon only avoided following it when Rusl took hold of her waist and pulled her back. Her daggers came out of the creature with a sickening pop, and a jet of bright blue fluid spurted over her leather bodice.

"Quick! While it is injured!" cried Link, struggling to catch up with them, but the creature was already stirring in half a dozen places, other tentacles rising up out of the slime like cobras.

Link took one of the acid bombs from the bag inside his cloak and threw it at a flagstone near the creature, but it sank harmlessly into the green. He drew his sword instead, trying to ignore how his boots were smoking and the flagstones were gradually sinking. A tentacle struck at him, clinging to his cloak with a hideous sucking noise, and another wrapped around his left leg. He struck down at it with the point of his rapier, jabbing with all the strength he could muster, and smiled grimly at the blue blood that leaked out of it. The tentacle around his ankle withdrew, but the one on his cloak was now tangled in it, dragging him out towards the acid. He turned and slashed, slicing through the thick material but completely missing the monster. Behind him, Malon was releasing a continual stream of curse words and Rusl was shouting commands, and all the time there was the endless clacking and squealing of the huge thing beneath them. A tentacle crashed onto the stone between his feet. Link fell to his knees and cried out in pain as the green substance burned into his legs. For a brief second he was back in the dank little dungeon cell, and Dodongo was leaning over him with a hot poker.

He lashed out with the rapier again, this time cutting the tentacle clean in half with one stroke. He scrambled up and away from it, very nearly stepping right back into the green slime, but the chamber was suddenly full of yellow light. For an instant everything was black and white. One of the tentacles flailed past him, a burning arrow jutting up from its barbed flesh. There was a whoosh, another blaze of light, and the creature was squealing in agony. The green acid below began to seethe ever more violently. He had to crouch to keep from going straight in it.

"Make for the edge, friends!" came a voice from behind him. "It doesn't much like the touch of my hot fingers."

Link turned to see a man standing on the far steps with a bow in his hands, cocked and ready with a fiery arrow. He was short and slim, with wavy blond hair and a small pointed beard. The man took aim and fired once more, the arrow finding another length of tentacle and biting deep. The creature began to withdraw, pulling its arms below the surface. Ahead of Link, Rusl and Malon were clambering awkwardly to the far steps, hopping from one broken flagstone to the next. They were both shouting excitedly, although Link could not understand why. He hobbled over as best he could and almost made it to the edge before losing his balance. He pin-wheeled backwards, waving his arms desperately for balance but then Wydrin was there, dragging him with her onto the steps. His boots splashed through some of the green acid but he did not fall.

"That was close," said Malon. Link looked at her sharply, sure she was mocking him again, but rather than her usual crooked smile she looked pale, her hair hanging in her eyes. On the steps in front of them, Rusl was marching up to the blond man, who had slung his bow onto his back.

"Sebastian!" he cried. "You're looking well."

"And so are you, Pipit." The big knight looked confused for a few seconds, before breaking into a huge grin. "Where the bloody hell have you been?"

He swept the smaller man up into a bone-crushing hug.

"It's good to see you, Pipit," said Malon. She waved to the smaller man as Rusl put him back down. "You always did have a fine sense of timing. Been having fun?"

Pipit grinned.

"But of course. Let's find a friendlier chamber. This could take a while."

Pipit and Rusl stood together, laughing and clapping each other on the back, exchanging exclamations of surprise and cries of 'Well, you took your time!' and 'Fancy seeing you here!'. Malon had found a pile of rocks and was perched on its edge, using the point of her dagger to scrape the last of the green ooze from her clothes. Link crouched beside her, watching the two men.

"That is definitely him?" he asked Malon in a low voice.

Malon glanced up and shrugged.

"It is. I'd know that smug little beard anywhere."

Link frowned. Finding Rusl's partner here, in the depths of the Keep, was disconcerting. A corpse would have been easier to deal with.

"Is he trustworthy?"

Malon slid her blade back into its scabbard and laughed.

"Pipit? Of course not. He's a scoundrel." She paused. "I've always liked him."

"And yet Sir Rusl seems to be an honourable man."

"Well, you know they say opposites attract." She grinned up at him in an unnerving fashion. When he scowled at her she stretched her arms above her head until the bones in her shoulders popped. "You know where I first met Rusl? In the middle of a street brawl." The two men were still talking animatedly, taking little notice of their companions. Even so, she lowered her voice. "When those pompous bastards threw him out of the Order he was heartbroken. And grieving." A shadow passed over her face. "He'd goaded a bunch of Lon-haven scum into a fight – five on one it was, the idiot, and he was keeping them off with his bare hands. Didn't even draw his sword. I happened to be passing and, well, I didn't like the odds so I joined in. When they'd gone, skittering back up the street like rats, I realised that the giant knight with all the hair was stone-cold drunk."

"Sir Rusl?"

"He was a mess, full of rage and grief at what they'd done to him. We became friends, and he started helping me out on some jobs." She looked up at her friend, her gaze considering. "He wanted to be the worst of us, you see. The most feared, the most ruthless sell-sword." Malon smiled faintly. "He certainly had the skills for it – I'd never seen anyone fight like him, but that wasn't really Rusl." She grinned in the dark. "Oh, he was wild for a while and we got into some right scrapes, but in the end –" She paused, searching for the right words. "In the end he became a steadying hand on the rudder. Rusl's a good man, and he can't ever escape that."

"And Pipit?"

"And Pipit," the blond man stepped forward, sketching them an elaborate bow, "is here to be your guide to the depths of the Keep."

"It's a good thing you turned up when you did." Rusl appeared at his shoulder. "The architecture is distinctly unfriendly."

Link stood up

"You have explored this place? You have a map?"

"My dear man, when you have come to know the Keep as well as I do, you have no need for maps."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading guys.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Copper Promise - Part one: Ghosts of the Citadel**  
 **By** : Wydrin Williams 178  


* * *

 **8**

Rusl felt as though a dark cloud had been lifted from his heart.

The whole thing had been Pipit's idea; break into the famous Keep of Hyrule and carry off the loot. Simple enough, but no other adventurer had ever managed it – and that, of course, was the point. A story to tell in the taverns that no one else could rival, and, Pipit insisted, they would have more offers of work than they knew what to do with.

Rusl had been reluctant. For one thing, no one was paying them to do it. Usually they raided a tomb or a temple because some half-sane crackpot was after the sacred gem of something or other, but even your biggest crackpots steered well clear of the Keep. And secondly, they were shorthanded; Malon was away visiting with her brother Malon, and not expected back for weeks. He insisted they wait: to gather information, find a patron, give Malon a chance to join them. Anything rather than take on the Keep underprepared.

And Pipit's patience, what little of it there was in the first place, had run out.

"If you had come when I asked you to, none of this would have happened," said Pipit. "I couldn't stand all that waiting and planning, Rusl, you knew that. There were adventures to be had, places to be explored! Secrets to be uncovered. And, let me tell you, I have found a few."

Malon and Link were following on behind, both looking a little frazzled, but Link looked up at the mention of secrets.

"What is it you have found, exactly? I have paid your companions a great deal of money to explore this place, and if you have access …"

"All in good time, my blond-haired friend!" Pipit called back over his shoulder. Lowering his voice, he leaned in to Rusl. "Where did you find that one? He speaks like his tongue is made of silver but he looks like a mongrel's favourite pissing post."

Rusl suppressed a chuckle.

"He is the Lord of Faron, heir to Faon Keep. Fallen on hard times recently."

Pipit nodded sagely. He turned to Malon and Link and gave them his most charming smile.

"You are tired, and hungry, and no doubt smelling quite terrible by now. I will take you to a place where we can rest for a while and eat. Then we can talk about what I have found here."

But that wasn't enough for Link.

"How is it you are still here? You have been here weeks, by my reckoning, yet you look none the worse for it."

Pipit waved a hand at him dismissively.

"I shall get to that. Here, down these steps and then there will be time for questions."

They trooped down a winding staircase, so narrow that Rusl's shoulders brushed the stones on either side, until they came to a tall, thin set of doors. Pipit pushed them open and threw his arms out to his sides in a gesture of welcome.

"I present to you, the banqueting hall of the mages! Come, sit and eat."

They stepped into the room beyond. Malon swore softly under her breath. Rusl shook his head as if to clear it.

It was a long room of dark grey marble, with a huge table running the length of it, and a hundred chairs set for dinner. On the walls were great stained-glass windows that shimmered in a thousand different colours, casting a rainbow of lights onto the stone floor. There was no possible way daylight could reach them down here, and yet they shone as if a bright summer's day waited just outside. More extraordinary still was the contents of the table itself: it heaved with food.

"How is this possible?" asked Link.

"Who cares?" cried Malon. "I'm half starved."

"A feast," said Rusl as he approached the table. "Food fit for a king. For the mountain gods themselves."

There were whole roast pigs with apples in their mouths, their skins crisp and glistening with fat. There were silver platters full of rich red meats, and wooden bowls full of potatoes, carrots and parsnips, steam rising off them gently as if freshly cooked. Tureens of huge, rainbow-scaled fish with their heads still on nestled next to smaller bowls filled with the tiny salted shoaling fish of the Yellow Sea, and the famous blue lobsters of Lon-haven. There were red apples stuffed with spiced raisins; fat golden pastries filled with cream and dusted with sugar; huge loaves of crusty bread pierced with toasted seeds, and whole hams, pink and juicy. And all around were tankards, flagons, bottles and barrels of beer, ale, wine, mead, brandy and Tocar, the fiery drink native to Death Mountain. Malon took a seat and began tearing into a loaf of bread with her hands, while Link approached more cautiously. He picked up a goblet of wine and sniffed it.

"Magic?"

"You could say that." Pipit walked the length of the table, plucking an apple from a silver tureen and polishing it against his sleeve. "Go on, eat. It's not poisoned." He took a bite out of the apple and chewed with apparent relish. The crunch sounded very loud in the empty hall.

Rusl realised how hungry he was. How long since they had eaten? He and Malon had grabbed a hurried breakfast of eggs and blood sausage at the Boiled Dog, but that had been so early the sun had barely been poking its shining brow above the horizon.

"It must be late by now," he said. "We've probably missed more than one meal."

With a lurch, Rusl realised he had no idea what the time was, or even how long they had been inside the Keep. Time was strange here, down in the dark between these secret walls, as though it were draining away down hidden cracks, pooling in unknown crevices. The thought made him uneasy, so he picked up a flagon of mead and took a long, deep swallow. It tasted of summer days, bright and unending.

"The mead is good, anyway," he said. Link looked less than convinced, picking up a slice of ham and turning it over in his fingers, but Malon was already dragging the plate of blue lobster towards her, a silver fork held in one fist as if to harpoon it.

They sat and ate for a time, the drinking and chewing and swallowing filling up the need for conversation, until they could consume no more. Rusl took a last gulp of the glorious mead and, setting down the tankard, mouthed the traditional prayer of thanks to Hylia. Looking up, he saw Pipit staring at him, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"You still do that, then," he said, pointing to the badge of Hylia on Sebastian's cloak. "Still praying to your chilly sky gods."

Rusl rubbed the crumbs from his fingers, suppressing a sigh. He and Pipit had never agreed on the subject of Rusl's faith.

"Enough of my little quirks, Pipit.' Rusl cleared his throat. "You've yet to explain how you're here, what you've found, or how you've existed in the Keep all this time. I'm sure you have some stories you're dying to tell us."

"We need to know what you've found," put in Link, leaning over his plate. The Lord of the Faron had eaten slowly and carefully, cutting up each piece of meat and using all the correct cutlery. "Have you seen a chamber, somewhere far beneath the central structure of the Keep, containing a pool or a lake?"

Pipit nodded hurriedly.

"Yes, I have seen evidence of such. But let me tell it from the beginning, my friends. I understand I have a lot to explain."

Malon belched into her hand and waved at Rusl to pass another bottle of the rich red wine.

"You talk, we'll drink," she said cheerily.

And so he did. Pipit told them of arriving in Hyrule, drunk on adventure and desperate to explore the Keep, how he had paid off the Hyrulian Council with the money he and Rusl had collected and hired a guide with what remained. Rusl felt a flicker of annoyance at that, as Pipit passed over his betrayal as though it were a small thing. He told them how they had entered the Keep with the aid of his explosives, and how he had lost his guide.

"How did you manage that?" asked Malon.

"There was a terrible creature hidden in the ceiling." For the first time a shadow passed over Pipit's face. "It reached down with inhuman arms and pulled poor Keaton up into the shadows. I didn't see what happened to him but I heard the screaming, and I saw the blood."

Rusl stiffened, horrified to see his friend in such pain.

"I'm sorry, Pipit."

Pipit nodded mournfully, staring down at his plate.

"Keaton was a good sort. Brave, even if it was braveness for the sake of coin."

"Nothing wrong with that," said Malon.

"He told me we should wait for you, Rusl. He wanted another sword arm in that dark place. Perhaps he was right."

"What happened then?" The light from the lamps cast Link's scarred face into sharp relief. There was a hunger in his eyes that Rusl did not like.

"I wandered, lost." Pipit did not raise his eyes from the table. "For the longest time. My supplies ran low, my water ran out, but I couldn't bring myself to turn back, not after … not after what happened to Keaton. Not after taking my good friend's money. It was dark, but I eventually found places that were lit, like this one. I soon discovered that the map made no real sense, and so I moved listlessly from room to room, searching for something, anything, to make this adventure worthwhile. Eventually, just as I thought I would die of thirst, I found it."

"What about those strange little men? Very pale, dusty, sleep in glass tanks?" Malon broke in, holding up her goblet and swishing the wine around for emphasis.

"What?"

"We were attacked by a group of these beings," said Rusl. "They tried to force us from the Keep, and told us they were fighting a war. They called themselves Kokiri, I believe."

Pipit smiled, although it looked false.

"The Citadel is full of wonders, but these I have not seen."

"Let him continue," demanded Link.

"I lost track of time. I could have been wandering for days, weeks even. Just when I thought I would die down here and never feel the sweet kiss of sunlight on my face again, I found a room containing a number of huge, clay jars, each nearly as tall as a man and all sealed with a blue wax. It took a great deal of work to get the lid off the first jar, and by that time I was very weak, but when eventually I broke the seal I found a cache of wonders."

"Like what?" asked Link.

"Treasures beyond counting, and enough gold to get even your blood flowing more quickly, your lordship." Pipit grinned, although the humour was lost on Link's stony expression. "And secrets, more of them than I could count. There were maps to enchanted rooms such as this one, where the mages would come to eat their fill every day and never have to lift a finger for fetching or cooking. It saved me from certain starvation."

"What of the treasure?" said Malon. Her green eyes were wide, and Rusl fancied he could almost see golden flecks glimmering there, reflections of a thousand gold coins. "Where is it all?"

"Too much to carry, my Copper Cat," Pipit said, "but I did keep this bow for myself." He indicated the fine longbow that had saved them. "And this was too special to leave behind." He drew a dagger from the belt at his waist and held it up to the light. It was an exquisite thing; the grip was covered in fine red leather and traced with golden wire, while blue sapphires and fire-bright rubies glittered on the narrow cross guard. Even the blade was enamelled gold and etched with strange runes, but for all its finery it was fearsomely sharp. Pipit laid it against a side of beef and the flesh parted as though the dagger were white-hot.

Malon was entranced.

"It is beautiful." Rusl could see her imagining how it would look hanging at her waist, perhaps in place of one of her own claws. "And there are more like this?"

"Swords and daggers beyond counting, as well as crowns, coronets, necklaces and rings set with gems as big as your thumb, a thousand—"

"What of these maps?" asked Link abruptly. "Did they show the location of a great lake?"

Pipit frowned again. There was something in that frown that looked a little forced to Rusl and that made him uneasy.

"No, my blond-haired friend, but there were other rooms with other jars, not far from here."

"Can you take us there?" said Link.

"Hold on a moment, what about the treasure Pipit has already located?" said Malon. "I say we go and gather as much as we can now, before the Kokiri come back."

"It might be useful to catalogue what is here," said Rusl. "We can add to the map, share our information."

To his surprise, Pipit shook his head and stood up.

"Why go over old ground, when there is so much more to explore? Now that you are all here with me, this will be three times as enjoyable." Pipit flashed that grin of his again, and Rusl couldn't help returning it.

"All right, but I'm not leaving this room without taking something to eat on the way." Malon unrolled a small sack from a loop on her belt and began filling it with bread rolls and honeyed pastries. "Rusl, how do you feel about carrying a few bottles of that wine?"

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm SO sorry. This is the most boring of all the chapters EVER! But I promise it'll get more exciting. Please review it, I could use the tips. :-)


	9. Chapter 9

**The Copper Promise - Part one: Ghosts of the Citadel**  
 **By** : Wydrin Williams 178  


* * *

 **9**

* * *

The jars were every bit as impressive as Pipit had described. Link, ignoring the dull ache in his leg, hobbled over to one and placed his gloved fingers against it. The jar was only a head shorter than himself, and wide enough in circumference for him to have climbed inside it and sat quite comfortably, had he been able to perform such a feat with a crippled leg. It was made of red clay, covered with an intricate pattern of swirls and circles. The longer Link looked at them the more he thought that they had a meaning beyond decoration, but if they did, he doubted even a lifetime of staring would reveal it. The lid was sealed over with blue wax, smooth and somehow unpleasant to the touch, even through the leather of his gloves. He circled the jar, looking for clues as to what might be within.

"Have you seen these books?" said Rusl. The big knight was standing by the wall, looking up at the library arrayed there, his face alight with wonder. And in truth, it was an extraordinary sight. The room they were in was small, but the ceiling was very high, and each wall was lined with bookshelves right up to the very top. They were clearly ancient, their spines crooked, and a good few of them were encrusted with mould. The books were of all shapes and sizes; a true treasure-trove of knowledge. Even the library at Faron Keep was not as well stocked, and Link's father had spent years gathering his collection from all over Hyrule. At the thought of his father and his cosy, cared-for library, a shadow passed over his heart. No doubt the books were all gone by now, sold on to collectors across Hyrule and beyond.

"They are strange, though," said Malon, who had joined Rusl by the bookshelves. "Look, how would you reach those ones at the top? There are no ladders. And here –" she tried to pull one of the volumes from the shelf, disrupting a small civilisation of dust, but a thin metal chain had been poked through the spine, preventing it from being removed. She gave it a tug, only to discover that the chain passed through all of the books on that shelf, holding them all in place. "What is the point of a library if you can't read the books?"

"It hardly matters," said Pipit. He was pacing around the room, staring at the jars. "Are you not anxious to see what other secrets are held in these jars? They are not easy to open, I promise you, so best get to it."

Link saw Malon raise her eyebrows.

"You can make a start, Pipit," she said. "Nothing's stopping you."

Pipit laughed, and held up his hands with the palms facing up.

"And deprive you of the discovery? I wouldn't dream of it."

Link looked up at the rows and rows of books, and dismissed them. It would take an age to look through them all, even if they could get the volumes down from the shelves. The jars were a faster prospect, and if Pipit was correct, they could well contain the information he needed.

"He's right," he said, pulling a dagger from his belt. "Start removing the wax."

Malon gave him a poisonous look, but came over all the same.

It took them a good while to get into the first jar, just as Pipit warned; the wax was thick and ancient, dried so hard it was almost stone. Malon suggested just pushing the jar over so that it smashed against the flagstones, but Pipiy spoke up against that quickly, and Link agreed. They had no way of knowing what was inside, and they could be destroying something delicate with their impatience to get at it. Link was thinking of the maps that could be in there, so frail and thin by now that a careless fingertip could cause them to crumble into dust, taking the location of the mages' secrets with them.

Eventually, Malon managed to get a large chunk of the wax off by pushing the edge of Frostling under an overhanging lip and wiggling it about, and after that it was easier. Beneath was a fabric seal covered with the same odd writing they had seen here and there all over the Keep. Malon pushed the tip of her blade through it and tore it open with a loud ripping noise. A puff of dust made them all cough, and it was followed by a terrible stench.

Malon pressed the back of her hand to her nose, frowning.

"It smells like something died in there."

Pipit paced impatiently around them.

"Come along then, have a look. It's bound to smell a bit off. Thousands of years have passed."

Link reached up and pulled the fabric back, looking eagerly down into the depths of the jar, so long hidden, but it was too dark to see anything clearly. The glinting of gold or jewels was conspicuously absent.

"It looks empty." He was unable to keep the frustration out of his voice.

"Here." Rusl picked the jar up in both arms and tipped it forward. It was heavy, but it was barely a strain for the big knight. After a moment a pile of what looked like red and brown rags fell out onto the stone floor, and the smell of corruption and rotten meat increased tenfold. Rusl grimaced as he set the jar down.

"If this was treasure once, it is no longer."

Malon bent to the rags and poked them with Frostling.

"I don't know what this is," she said after a moment. "But I don't think it was ever treasure, Rusl."

Link knelt next to her and removed his leather glove. He saw her glance at the ruined tips of his fingers, but he ignored the curious look and touched the pile of stinking matter. He felt no rough weave as he would expect to feel from a piece of cloth. It was tough and irregular, like leather, or dried meat. There was lots of it, enough to fill his arms if he tried to carry it away, although the gods only knew why anyone would want to do that. He stood, angry at this further distraction.

"This was a body once, or part of a body."

Malon took her blade away hurriedly.

"Why would the mages store a dead body in a jar?" asked Rusl.

"It hardly matters," said Pipit. The three of them turned to look at him. The young blond man was agitated, pacing back and forth. There was a thin layer of sweat on his brow, despite the relative cool of the chamber. "Open the other jars, and quickly now. If there's nothing here we should move on. Quickly."

"Perhaps first we—"

"No!" His interruption was almost a shout, and Rusl actually took a step back.

"Open the jars." And then he seemed to remember himself. The flashy smile made another appearance. "Please."

They did as he asked – more quickly now that they knew the method to get them open – but each contained only the same as the first. When they opened the fourth and final jar, there was a great rumble from beneath their feet, so violent that the dried remains jumped and shivered on the flagstones. Pipit was breathing hard and staring down at the ground as if he expected it to rise up and swallow him. Sweat was running down his cheeks.

"What was that?" said Malon. The chains that held the books together were trembling, and then one by one they snapped, throwing up little puffs of metallic dust. The rumbling died away, but as Link opened his mouth to answer, the door on the far side of the chamber flew open and a Kokiri came charging in, his mouth open wide with shock. He was followed by three more.

"You have broken the seals!" cried the first. "The final seals! She is stirring!"

"What are you talking about?" Malon had drawn both her daggers. "Have you come back for another dance, wood-men?"

Pipit was laughing.

"I am glad you find this amusing," snapped Link. "But these creatures nearly killed us last time we met."

"Oh no," said Pipit. "The Kokiri wouldn't do that. Would you?" he said, addressing them directly. He laughed again. "Spilt blood is far too dangerous in this place. Which reminds me." Moving faster than Link would have believed possible, Pipit stepped up next to Rusl and, drawing the wicked golden dagger from his belt, thrust the blade at his friend's neck. The enamelled brooch that held Rusl's cloak turned the weapon from its killing thrust but the blade still sank into the knight's breast. Blood, startlingly bright after so long in the dusty halls of the Keep, poured forth in a red gush, spattering the floor and the clay jar in front of Rusl. Link saw the big knight's eyes go wide with shock and pain, and then he fell to his knees. His hands went to the hilt now sticking from the thick muscle below his breastbone.

Malon screamed wordlessly and turned on Pipit, her daggers a deadly blur, but the blond man danced out of reach. He was still laughing, and there was a manic and terrible light in his eyes. Meanwhile, the Kokiri were gathered around Rusl on the floor.

"What have you done?" demanded Link. The rumbling from below was back, only now it was falling and rising, falling and rising. Like a heartbeat.

"She rises," said Gallo. "She rises, and she's bringing an army with her."

Malon flew forward again, fury in her eyes, and this time Frostling found purchase on Pipit's arm, tearing into the flesh there, but he hardly seemed to feel it. Instead he turned and ran for the door.

Malon made to go after him, but Rusl called her name from the floor. Already his voice was weak.

"Leave him," he said. The Kokiri stood shoulder to shoulder, whispering frantically with each other.

"Why did he do that? Why?" Malon looked lost, her face very pale under the lamplight. Link knelt by Rusl, trying not to show the dismay on his face. The Kokiri had torn a piece from the big knight's cloak and were pressing the fabric against the wound in his chest, but the front of his tunic was already soaked with blood, and it was rapidly pooling on the floor. Rusl tried to lift himself up, but the pain was too great.

"Try not to move," said Link.

"You," Malon grabbed hold of one of the Kokiri and shook him fiercely, "you will tell me why he did that. What is going on here?"

For a moment it looked like the Kokiri wasn't going to answer, but he exchanged a look with the others, and sighed.

"He was an agent of Cia, the last of the gods. Our prisoner."

"He wasn't," said Rusl. His voice was little more than a ragged whisper. "He was my – friend. He wasn't an agent of anyone."

"Rusl, don't talk," said Malon. She released the Kokiri and put her hand on her friend's arm. "You'll only make it bleed more."

"Take the knife out," said one of the Kokiri, the one who had been first through the door.

"No," said Link. "If you remove the blade, he will bleed to death all the quicker. Tear the cloak into more strips, and then we will press the fabric to the wound. Pressure should help stem the flow." He took a deep, steadying breath. "But I want you to tell us the rest of it. Now."

They shifted the big knight round to reach him better. Rusl grunted with the pain, but did not scream. Link had to admire that; he had done plenty of screaming, down in the dungeons. "Your friend with the golden hair. He was not an agent of Cia when he came here, no, no," said the Kokiri as they tore Rusl's cloak into long strips. Link held a wad of the fabric to the wound. "He wandered the Keep, and she takes her agents where she can find them. It does not cost her much to take a mind."

"I don't understand," said Malon. "What is this Cia?"

"She is the last god. She wants to be free." The Kokiri wrung his hands together as he spoke. "For thousands of years Cia has been pushing at the boundaries, weakening the seals. Extending her influence. She is so close now. If this man dies—"

"You are telling us that this Cia is a god, or something equating that, and it is somewhere beneath us?" Link could not keep the incredulity out of his voice. "If that was the case, if the stories are true, then where are the mages? Immortal, powerful beings sworn to keep the rebel gods trapped for ever?"

"They could not live for ever, although they tried." The Kokiri shook his head slowly. "In the end, their lake no longer worked. They began to grow old and weak, as all men. That is why they made us. To keep watch after they were gone, but now—"

"But now you have broken the last four seals!" The Kokiri busily tearing Sebastian's cloak into strips glared at them all. "The great final spell that is written in these books." he gestured at the mouldy library. "It is now useless."

"Why couldn't Pipit break the seals?" asked Malon. "He said he'd already broken into other jars …"

"Lies," snapped another of the Kokiri. "She cannot touch the sacred seals, no, and neither can her agents. He needed you to do it."

"When the last of this man's life-blood falls onto the stones of the Keep, Cia's prison will finally be broken," added the first Kokiri.

"Then help us get him out of here," said Malon. "You know the way back better than us. If we hurry—"

"He will be dead before you see daylight."

They pulled Rusl forward so that they could tie the bandages round his chest. The knight protested weakly.

"I'm stronger than I look. I can make it. I can."

"No time," said the first Kokiri. He wiped his bloody fingers on his own woody body. "There is only the lake now. Pray that it has lost none of its properties."

"The lake?" said Link, sharply. "You know where it is?"

The Kokiri nodded irritably.

"What lake? What are you talking about?" Malon pushed Rusl's black hair back from his face. There was blood on his lips.

Link stood up.

"I'm talking about the whole reason I came here."

* * *

 **A/N: du du duuuuuuuuu! Thanks for reading guys. Until next time!**


	10. Chapter 10

**The Copper Promise - Part one: Ghosts of the Citadel**  
 **By** : Wydrin Williams 178  


* * *

 **10**

* * *

His weight was heavy on her shoulders, and the stench of his blood thick in her nostrils. Every now and then she would gag, but Malon was determined not to vomit. She had seen many men bleed out, of course she had. More often than not she had been the cause of it too, but the blood of a friend was different from the blood of an enemy.

Rusl groaned. He wanted to lie down, he said, just for a quick rest. Once he was rested, he told them, he would feel much better and they would move more quickly.

"Here, hold this," she told him, pressing a bundle of fabric into the hand not resting against her shoulder. "Press it against your wound. You need to keep the pressure up."

He did as he was told, although sluggishly.

"How much further?" demanded Link. Two of the Kokiri were helping Malon carry Rusl while the other two walked in front, leading them down passageway after passageway. The flagstones and bricks of the room with the jars had disappeared some time ago, to be replaced with tunnels carved straight out of the living rock. The echoes were strange here, and twice Malon had been convinced that something was following them. Their way was lit by strange gatherings of luminescent moss that had colonised the ceiling, giving everything a yellowed, watery hue.

"Not far now," said the lead Kokiri. He'd told them that his name was Fado. "How is the knight?"

Malon glanced up at Rusl's face. He was staring down at the hilt of the dagger sticking out of his chest as though he didn't quite know what it was. His face was parchment white, and there were ominous dark circles under his eyes.

"How do you think he's doing? He's bleeding like a stuck pig!"

"He must not die," warned Fado. "His life-blood must not be shed on these stones."

"I'm not that keen on the idea myself," said Rusl, but so weakly only Malon could hear it. They walked on. Malon, more than a head shorter than Rusl, was soon sweating, her hair plastered to her forehead. _So heavy_ , she thought. _I should tell him to leave the sword behind, but he'll need that. If I let him lose it I'll never hear the last of it_. Besides, she dare not stop, not even for a moment. If she did she wasn't sure she could get him up again, and then if what the Kokiri said was true, they would all die down here. Instead, she concentrated on the ragged sound of Rusl's breathing and the steady tap, tap, tap of Link's walking stick; it apparently took a lot to tire the lord of the Faron.

It was just as Malon could no longer feel her feet and her shoulders were screaming with agony, that the Kokiri in front gave a small cry of triumph. They stumbled out of the tunnels and onto a set of wide stone steps. At first Malon wanted to kick them; what were they so excited about? More steps to shuffle down, so what? But then she heard Link exclaim too, a hoarse bark of something that was almost laughter. Malon lifted her weary head, and for a brief second she forgot about the ache in her back and the blood soaking into her clothes.

They stood at the entrance of an enormous cavern, the biggest space she had ever seen. The ceiling was lost in darkness, the craggy walls to either side partially obscured by a rolling mist. And spreading out below them was the Mages' Lake.

"This is it!" cried Link. "I knew I would find it."

"The Kokiri found it," pointed out Malon, although in truth she barely knew what she was saying. She couldn't take her eyes off the lake. It was the bright blue of the Hylian Sea, shimmering under the hottest summer's day – no, brighter than that. It was lit from within with its own strange light, so that the surface fractured and glimmered like diamonds. After a few seconds she had to look away; the lake drew her eyes and seemed to feast on them, something that frightened her badly.

"Why is it moving?" she asked through numb lips. "Shouldn't it be still?"

"The magic contained within is as lively as ever," said Fado. "Which is all to the good. Quickly now, we must get the knight into the water."

They began to shuffle down the steps, but Link held up a hand.

"I will go first," he said. There was a hunger in his voice. "To test it. After all, we don't know how it might have changed over the last thousand years."

"Oh no," cried Fado. "The power is limited. Only one can bathe in its magic, only one every ten years. The mages made it so."

"Why would they do that?" The look on Link's face was a dangerous one. Instinctively, Malon put a hand on the pommel of her dagger.

"To ensure that no single mage became more powerful than the others. The effects of the lake are – extreme, addictive. It would be much too tempting to go back again and again, growing younger and more powerful with each exposure. The mages made it so that once one of them had taken of its gifts, they would all have to wait another ten years before they could do it again."

"That cannot be!"

"It doesn't matter," Malon dragged Rusl down another step, and another. The blue waters of the lake were lapping at the bottom of the steps, kissing them with jewelled lips. "Just give me a bloody hand, will you?"

The Kokiri rushed to her aid, but Link just stood very still. His blue eyes were wide. The light from the lake made them look full of tears.

"Help us, Link!"

Beneath their feet the rumbling had returned, and it was growing stronger. Rusl's eyes were closed now, and Malon feared she could no longer hear his breathing. _I can't hear it over my own, that's all_ , she told herself. _There's still time._

They were ten feet away from the waters when she saw Link reach within his cloak. She knew what he was doing before she even saw the greasy green ball in his hand.

"No!" she screamed, but it was too late. Link threw the bomb just in front of them and the explosion threw them all back. Malon fell awkwardly against the steps and whacked her arm so hard she lost all feeling in it, while Rusl rolled away from her. Of the Kokiri, only two remained; the others were a confusion of dust and splintered wood.

She lifted her head just in time to see Link walk into the shimmering waters.

* * *

 **A/N: Yet another du du duuuuuuu. Betrayal is EVERYWHERE! Thanks for reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

**The Copper Promise - Part one: Ghosts of the Citadel**  
 **By** : Wydrin Williams 178  


* * *

 **11**

* * *

The bejewelled waters of the lake swept hungrily over Link's boots, rising up over his ankles to his shins. His first confused impression was that it was hot, the temperature scalding him through the worn leather of his trousers – it was like a bath freshly drawn, too warm to be comfortable. The lights grew more lively, swarming around him like something alive, a shoal of hungry fish perhaps. He reached down and put his hands under the water – distantly he could hear Malon cursing him, but it was very far away – and his fingers tingled uncomfortably. Pulling off his gloves he could see that the tips of his fingers, scarred and wrinkled where Dodongo had torn his fingernails off with pincers, were smoothing over. There was an odd pressure, and then a thin ellipsis of a hard material began to push through the flesh. His nails were growing back. "Yes!" he cried. "It is working. I will be whole again …"

There was a tremendous crash from behind him, just as though the sky were caving in, and he heard Malon's yelling take on a note of panic, but nothing could tear his gaze from the rippling waters. He thought he could hear voices now, whispering from further out in the lake.

"Who are you?" Link took a few steps forward. The poorly healed bones in his leg began to throb, and he stumbled. "What do you want?"

"What do you want?" echoed the whispering voices.

"Your power, your strength," he answered. The water was up to his waist now, rushing to run phantom fingers over every scar and fractured bone. He thought of Rusl's pale face and his blood-soaked tunic, but almost immediately the image was replaced with another; his younger brother Colin, his small body beaten and broken. There was no turning back now.

"Then take it," answered the mages as one.

There was a deafening crackle and Link was filled with an excruciating pain. He fell to his knees in the lake so that the water came up to his chin, filling his mouth, but still he screamed. A thousand hot pokers seared his skin, a thousand knives gouged his flesh. Every bone felt as though it had shattered and the shards were burrowing their way out of his body.

"Are you strong enough, Link Frith, Lord of the Faron? You are no mage." The voices were full of mockery, he realised, somewhere underneath the pain. "The lake will destroy you."

Link, unable to move or even to think beyond the agony, pitched forward and felt the shimmering waters close over his head. The last thing he heard before the water plugged his ears was a hundred newly opened throats, screaming for victory.

* * *

 **A/N: I am SO sorry. This is so short *Laughs nervously* Hope you enjoyed this chapter anyways.**


	12. Chapter 12

**The Copper Promise - Part one: Ghosts of the Citadel**  
 **By** : Wydrin Williams 178  


* * *

 **12**

* * *

Malon pulled Rusl upright, wincing at the sharp pain in her arm, but the big knight only slumped back down onto the steps, his eyes rolling up to the whites.

"Is he …? He hasn't …?"

"We will know soon," said Fado. Around them the rumble was now a continuous roar. Dust and debris, shaken loose by the commotion, was floating down from the ceiling to cover them in a thin grey blanket. Stones and rocks jumped loose from the steps, so that dark holes appeared all around them.

"This god," shouted Malon. "What is it, exactly?"

"A terrible being," said Fado. "A creature of unspeakable evil. She lives only to feast and destroy, and only ruin brings pleasure to her heart."

"Yes, but what is it? I would feel a lot better if I had some idea of what was about to climb up through the floor at me."

"Oh, it won't be her," said the second Kokiri. The blast from Link's bomb had torn away some of the wood from his left side, leaving him limping and ragged. "She will send her army up first."

"Her army?" Malon looked down at the nearest hole. There was movement there, down in the dark. "These mages can't have been very wise, to have interred an army down there with her."

"They did not," snapped Fado. "She has been breeding them."

At that moment, the first of the soldiers arrived. A slim arm, green as a spring apple, appeared over the nearest hole. The hands were long and sharp, ending in curving black claws. The hand scrabbled for purchase and the rest of the creature climbed into view. It was human in shape and aspect, even beautiful in a way, tall and lithe, with a long elegant face and large, almond-shaped eyes that were entirely yellow save for a slim black slit running down the centre. Snake's eyes, thought Malon, her stomach turning over. There were luminescent scales on the creature's arms, forehead and shoulders, and long silvery white hair flowed down its back. The armour it wore looked almost a living thing itself; huge golden scales twisted and curved to fit the sharp angles of the creature, and where that was too cumbersome a fine shimmering mail covered the body, so delicate it looked like silver cloth. The soldier smiled, revealing white, pointed teeth.

Behind the beautiful soldier, more were appearing every second, every one as silvered and perfect as the last. And each carried a long thin sword made of blue crystal. As they swung their weapons, the air filled with a sonorous whine.

"They're all … It's an army of women."

"Not women," said Fado. "Not close to human, no."

Malon stumbled away from them, pulling Rusl with her down towards the edge of the lake. The scaled soldiers watched closely, their finely angled faces breaking into a hundred identical smiles. There were more coming through the door now, edging down the steps. Their bare feet were eerily quiet on the stone. Pushing Rusl's limp body behind her, Malon drew both her daggers and carefully kissed their hilts. Watching the warriors approach, she noticed that some of them weren't quite as finished as the others – a few were missing their armour, some their fine white hair – but when their feet touched the crimson trail left by Rusl's wound, golden scales would push from their bodies as though they were made of dough, and long claws sprouted from the ends of their fingers.

Malon took a deep breath, and looked inside herself for a calm place, a place to stand. She remembered her father, black-bearded and booming, taking her out in the little cog Haven's Champion for a quick jaunt across the Stony Sea.

"Find a quiet place inside you, my little kitten," he had said. "Place your feet against the deck and listen to the sea. She'll tell you all you need to know."

"He was full of bilge, my father, but he was right about that," she said in a low voice. Fado and the ragged Kokiri looked up at her in confusion, but she shook her head. "Never mind. Are you ready?"

"It is hopeless," stammered Fado. "The army has risen. She will be close behind."

The scaled warriors edged closer, with looks of almost polite curiosity on their beautiful faces. Malon shrugged.

"That may well be, but I'm not dying down here without taking a few of these bitches with me."

The Kokiri exchanged a look, and then produced their blades from the palms of their hands in one fluid movement. Malon grinned.

"That's the spirit."

As if sensing their intent, the closest scaled warrior stepped up and swung her blue crystal sword at Malon, but the Copper Cat evaded it easily, bringing her own daggers around to clash against the blade. The steel striking against the crystal made a strange, high-pitched whine and the scaled warrior took a step back, her teeth bared.

"Not heard the ring of steel before, huh?"

Malon reached in under her guard and Frostling pricked at the pale skin. Blood as deep and green as emeralds bubbled up at the warrior's waist, and Malon stepped away before she could retaliate.

"They bleed," she told the Kokiri. "They can be killed." She showed them the green blood on her dagger, but when she looked up, the warrior she had cut was laughing. The light from the lake glittered off her pointy teeth.

"These ones fight," she said. Her voice was warm and slightly husky, a voice dipped in honey and rolled in smoke. "Mother will enjoy that."

"What are you supposed to be, anyway?" called Malon. "Your armour is gaudier than a tart's jewellery box."

"I am the Two Hundred and Eighty-First. We carry your death on our blades, and we are many."

As one, the scaled warriors advanced, blue crystal blades flashing. Malon and the Kokiri found themselves with their backs to the lake, and there was nothing to it but to fight. It could be worse, thought Malon. This is a death worthy of a hundred stories.

Grinning, she became a blur of arms and steel as she threw off one attack after another, slicing green flesh where she could and watching for the spatter of green blood on the stones. Steel clashed against crystal until the strange ringing became a sort of music, echoing in the cavernous room. The Kokiri were as swift and deadly as they had been back in their hibernation chamber, and they carved limbs from the scaled warriors as though they were slicing through saplings in a wood, but all the time more snake-eyed women were climbing through the holes in the steps.

A blue flash skimmed past Malon's stomach and she staggered backwards into the lake to avoid disembowelment. The glittering waters splashed harmlessly against her ankles, and she had a moment to wonder whether they were truly as magical as the Kokiri claimed, but then the next scaled woman was upon her, all pointed teeth and streaming white hair. Malon pushed her blow aside and thrust Frostling up at her face; the warrior looked rather less beautiful with a pair of ruined eyes, and she fell head first into the water.

"Good thing this place isn't healing any more," she shouted to Fado and the ragged Kokiri, "or the bastards would never stay down!" She turned back to face the next opponent, only for her vision to explode in a confusion of black stars. Dimly she felt the warm rush of blood across her face, and suddenly it was difficult to tell which way was up and which was down.

Malon swore bitterly and blindly held her daggers up in front of her.

Within the waters of the lake, Lord Frith burned.

* * *

A thousand tiny demons with teeth made of fire nibbled at every inch of his skin. He was curled up in a ball, trying to keep his limbs close, trying to force the pain away, but it was impossible. Distantly he could hear the mages laughing as he suffered. _Why_? he demanded, with the tiny part of his mind the pain had not consumed. _You have no need of the power any longer, why?_

 _Because you are_ no _mage_ , they answered. _You are not strong enough, little man. You presume to greatness, and for that you will suffer._

 _Suffer_? He remembered his father's face the last time he'd seen it, contorted with fear and rage as the doors crashed down. He remembered the dungeon, the small room that smelled of blood and shit, the podgy but deft fingers of Dodongo. The knives that had danced across his skin, the glowing red metal that had caressed his flesh, over and over and over again. He thought of the fat man's watery yellow eyes, looking down at his suffering with pleasure. With satisfaction. With greed.

A wave of rage overcame him then, and with wonder he realised it was hotter than the pain. More real than the pain. He sought it, caught it within his breast and nurtured it.

 _They are enjoying this_ , he told himself. _They are watching me writhe and weep and it feeds them_. The fury became a white-hot heat, and the pain became a bellows. _I have faced this before, and it didn't end me then, either._

Instead of fighting the pain, he welcomed it. Every nerve ending in his body lit up and sang. So much pain that he thought his mind might come away from its tethers entirely and leave him gibbering in the centre of the lake, but no, he was still there. He was stronger than it.

With a grunt, he rose shaking from the waters. Inside his head he heard the gasps of the mages. Their confusion and terror was as sweet as the taste of a fine wine in the back of his throat.

 _How can you do this?_ they screamed. _You are no mage!_

He blinked the water from his eyes and looked down at his hands. The fingernails had all grown back, his leg no longer stabbed with pain when he leaned his weight on it, and when he pressed a hand to the side of his head … a wonder! His ear, as good as new. But it was more than that – there was a sense of coiled energy within his chest, a churning of light and sound that he could almost see. All the hair on his arms was standing on end, his skin rigid with goosebumps. And the pain was gone. All of it. He began to laugh, until he saw the scene around him.

Rusl lay at the edge of the lake, his face turned towards the distant door, while Malon stood over his body. The two Kokiri were there too, their blades flashing away as they fought off the strangest-looking army Link had ever seen. Hundreds of women in golden armour were pressing through the doors with icy-blue swords clutched in their hands. Their skin was as green as jade, and their faces seemingly finely carved from that rare stone. He grasped for his sword, only to find he'd lost it in the waters of the lake.

"Malon! We need to retreat!"

Malon turned her head at the sound of his voice, a spasm of anger briefly replacing the fear on her face.

"You!" she cried. "You dirty, low, cowardly—"

The Kokiri were whirling like spinning tops, keeping the terrible warriors at bay, and Malon had done her fair share of fighting too, judging by the thick green fluid encrusting her daggers, but she'd also taken a blow to the head, and one side of her face was slick with blood. The warriors appeared to be unending, but they seemed strangely reluctant to come near the blue lake despite the fact that it would take mere seconds to outflank the small group.

"Get behind me," he shouted as he splashed up to them. "Get into the lake, there's nothing in there to harm us now."

Malon staggered back, deflecting a series of blows from one of the soldiers almost instinctively. Her arms were trembling with the effort now.

"Why should I do anything you say?"

"Just do it!"

She must have seen something in his face then, a hint of what he intended to do, because instead of arguing further she put her daggers back in their sheaths and took hold of Rusl, dragging him deeper into the water but taking care to keep his head above it. At the sight of the knight, his tunic soaked in blood, Link felt his stomach turn over. Fado and the ragged Kokiri followed suit, looking up at Link with wide dark eyes.

"What have you done?" asked Fado.

Link shook his head, unable to explain. The warriors advanced up to the edge of the lake and stopped.

"Come and fight," called one of the warriors at the front. She bared long pointed teeth at Link, running a dark green tongue over them suggestively. "We like the taste of your blood, little warm things."

"Not bloody likely," shouted Malon back. "How about you behave like good little snakes and slither back underground?"

The warrior laughed, and reached behind her to pull a slim golden bow from her back. Amongst the scaled golden armour the bows had been well camouflaged and, as Link watched, the whole front line began to draw them, notching short, barbed arrows. "Well, we're dead," said Malon.

"No," said Link. There was something growing within him, an extension of the light and power that had been with him since he'd been submerged under the lake. He felt it building, like a kettle of stew left on the stove too long, or water surging up from a well during flood season. He held out his hands in front of him and let the sensation overtake him. "They are."

There was a tremendous flash of light and a great wave of blue fire rolled out from the palms of his hands, surging towards the crowd of green warriors. Some of them dropped their bows, others turned to run, but found only hundreds of their sisters in their way. The fire was on them in an instant and the great cavern filled with screams as their flesh melted away from their bones, and their heads lit up like torches.

Link laughed. The palms of his hands were itching.

"How did you do that?" asked Malon, her voice shrill with astonishment, and Link tried to tell her, but she could not hear it over the screaming of the warriors. Those still alive were now retreating for the far door, swords held over their heads. And there was another sound. A deep and ominous rumble from beneath their feet.

"She is stirring," said Fado. "She is not completely free yet, I do not know …"

Link knelt by Rusl and took hold of the big knight's face between his fingers. He was as white as paper and the skin around his eyes was bruised a deep purple, but he could feel the slither of life still there, a tiny hot thread amongst all that cold.

"He's still alive, but barely."

"Then we need to get out of here." Malon looked back towards the far doors, but the snake warriors were still crowded there, watching them with yellow eyes. _They will gain their courage again soon enough_ , thought Link, _and then what_? Now that the adrenaline was fading, his legs felt weak and his head was spinning. Could he keep up the fireballs long enough to fight to the surface? Long enough for Rusl not to lose his grip on life on the way out? He thought not.

Instead he searched the new knowledge he'd wrestled from the mages. It was strange, he did not feel as though he'd learned anything new, but he could remember things about the Keep, things he hadn't known before. And he thought there was a way out, after all.

"I'm going to bring the ceiling down," he told them.

"What?" The portion of Malon's face that was not covered in blood was milk white. "Did that little soak in the lake soften your brain?"

"Just watch, and be ready to run."

The simmering ball of light and noise had already begun to grow again in his belly. Link looked up at the ceiling and tried to see it clearly. The smoke from the fire and the height of the cavern made that difficult, but he knew it was there, and the mages knew its weaknesses. He reached out with his mind and he could feel the cracks up there, rents and fissures torn by the passage of time. For thousands of years the cavern had supported the weight of the Keep, for thousands of years it had been strong, solid. And now it was time for it to come down.

Light leapt up out of his hands before he even knew what he was doing, and this time it looked like forked lightning, brilliant and white. It travelled up to the distant ceiling and licked along the surface. For a few seconds they could all see it – black rock and weathered stalactites lit up in harsh blacks and whites – and then it was gone. Malon was letting fly a long series of colourful curses. Link took a deep breath. He needed to concentrate. _Let's see what I can do._

Heat streamed out of Link's fingers towards the ceiling. His heart raced inside his chest so fast that he could hardly breathe, and for a brief second he could feel the broken surface of the ceiling under his fingertips. The fissure was a dark, secret place; he could sense the emptiness behind the rock, the places where the stone was weak. All it took was a little pressure …

Malon closed her eyes against the blinding light, but they were soon forced open again when a series of small explosions turned the lake into a frenzy of waves. There was an ear-splitting crash and suddenly it was as though they were being lifted towards the ceiling on a surge of water. It was only when the scaled warriors began to shriek that she realised it was the ceiling coming down towards them.

She flung herself over Rusl's body, painfully aware that such last-minute heroics were pointless, and then it all went black.

It was the sun that woke her. It was a gentle, warm hand on her head, and for a few moments she imagined she was back on the deck of the Haven's Champion, sailing on a hot day. She even fancied she could taste the salt …

* * *

Malon opened her eyes to blue sky and rubble. The Keep, having stood for thousands of years, was now a mountain of broken masonry and shattered red brick. Pulling herself to her feet she saw that they had been thrown down onto the Sea-Glass Road. Link was there, standing and looking down at his hands like he'd never seen them before, and Rusl was lying a few feet away. Of the Kokiri there was no sign. They were all covered in a thick layer of dust.

"What did you do?"

Link looked up at her. The long twisting scar from his face was gone, and he was standing straight and true, but his hair was still gold-blond.

He looked like he was trying to formulate an answer, but then Malon noticed something behind him, in the ruins of the Keep. Red against red.

She ran back up the Sea-Glass Road, weaving through the debris and ignoring the throbbing in her head. Amongst the broken stones of the Keep were four equally broken bodies, dressed in brown leather armour. A shattered spear still poked from the hand of one of them.

"The guards," she said. Her stomach turned over slowly. "They're all dead, just look at them. Didn't the Kokiri say …?"

A tremendous roar from below caused the words to die in her throat. The ground around them began to shake, and a series of huge cracks ran down the Sea-Glass Road like the lightning that had brought down the Keep.

"She's coming," said Link. "We have to get out of here."

"What is she?" cried Malon. The rubble began to churn, throwing pieces of rock and stone down at them as something huge began to push its way up from below. There was another roar, turning Malon's blood cold. It was the roar of something that ate creatures her size as an appetiser. And she couldn't drag her eyes away from it.

An enormous reptilian head pushed through the ruin of the Keep. It was covered in shining scales, each as deep a blue as the ocean. Its huge yellow eyes were full of fire, and when it opened its mouth a belch of greasy flame shot forth. Cia pulled herself free of the rubble and flapped a pair of leathery wings, each as big as the sails on Malon's father's largest ship.

"A dragon," said Malon weakly. She could feel all the strength draining from her legs, despite her brain's frantic instructions to run.

"A dragon, a god, what does it matter?" Link was next to her, and as Cia turned her huge fiery eyes upon them he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. She had a second to notice that he already had hold of Rusl by the remains of his cloak before the desert sky began to distort and twist.

"What are you doing?!"

"Taking us away. Now hold on."

Before they vanished from the Sea-Glass Road, Malon twisted her head for one last look at the monster they had unleashed. Distantly she could hear screaming as the city of Hyrule awoke to its long-neglected guest.

Cia roared, blue scales winking in the sun, and the city began to burn.

* * *

 **A/N: OMG THIS WAS SO LONG! This is the END of part one everyone! Thanks for reading and look out for part two!**


	13. Chapter 13

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **A/N: Finally! It's here! The second part to the 'Copper Promise' Hope you enjoy it! Oh and P.S. I'll be updating extremely quickly because between the time I started writing this and the time I started uploading, I've virtually finished the entire thing so... Look forward to multiple updates!**

* * *

 **13**

* * *

The Thirty-Third walked down the cobbled road, her bare feet silent against the stones. Across the way she could just make out the slim shape of her brood sister, the Ninety-Seventh, crouched over something twitching on the floor. It was making noises, and she could feel her sister's pleasure as a warm space in her mind. The Thirty-Third smiled, tasting smoke on her tongue.

They had no names, the brood army, but the Thirty-Third knew where she had been spawned, and when. She had grown in the cold and dark over many long years, nestled closely to her sisters, tasting their minds all around her until she knew each of them without needing to look at their faces. There were those who were before her, and those who were after, and that was all. And Mother, of course.

A small shape came careening out of an open doorway, skidding to a halt in front of her. Its eyes were wide with panic, and immediately the Thirty-Third was in pursuit. There was no need to think; the creature was small and warm and terrified, a thing of prey. It made the mistake of turning and running back into the darkened household, and the Thirty-Third followed.

The family had gathered in the parlour, and were now huddled together around the remains of the dining table. The Thirty-Third could see the vestiges of relief on the mother's face, relief at the return of her son who had so foolishly run away. The Thirty-Third watched as the tatters of this emotion were replaced with flat terror. It was fascinating, really. The mother gathered her son into her arms, pressing him to her skirts.

"Hello," said the Thirty-Third. It was interesting to speak. Each word was a new flavour.

"Get out." The father was a skinny man with a shining bald spot poking through the wisps of brown hair on his head. He was crooked from a lifetime of pushing carts and she could see from the glassy look in his eyes that he'd never needed to be brave before, but now here he was, doing it anyway. She grinned. "Get out and leave us alone," he said again. The Thirty-Third drew her sword. It was made of blue crystal, and it hummed as it slid against the golden scabbard. The family shuddered as one at the noise; they'd all heard that sound in the last few hours, and already knew what it meant. The Thirty-Third knelt and placed it on the floor in front of her feet.

"I am only here to talk," she said, in what she hoped was a friendly tone. The boy whined, and twisted his fists into his mother's apron. "It is a new thing, this … talking. I wish to ask you questions, hear your answers, and then you can go, yes?"

The man and woman exchanged a look. There was hope in that look, a tiny candlelight you could never quite put out. It was one of the things she was learning about them.

"We can go?" asked the woman.

"Yes. Tell me, what is the boy's name?" She pointed to the child with one delicately clawed finger.

"Gulley, his name is Gulley." Now that they'd grasped the idea, they were eager to run with it. The man nodded and even smiled, just as though all his neighbours weren't dead and the city burning. "Our lad, he's just had his ninth birthday."

"Really?" The Thirty-Third felt genuine delight at that. It was similar to the feeling of satisfaction that came when something previously unbroken snapped under her foot. "So have I! Well, my first. My first birthday."

"That's nice," said the woman. Her voice was tight.

"And you live here, in this city." The Thirty-Third gestured around at the four walls of the small room. "What does that mean, to live in the city?"

The tentative smile on the man's face froze, becoming a mask of something else. He didn't understand the question, she could see that, and he knew that failing to answer would be dangerous.

"I don't – what do you mean?"

She took a step towards them, and as one they shuffled back. She smiled a little wider.

"You build things, make things, and then put them all together in one place, and then eat and sleep and rut and die next to each other. Why is that?"

"It's – this is Hyrule. There have been people here for thousands of years, it's a place of great civilisation. There was the Keep …" he cast around for something else but found nothing.

"Yes, there was," agreed the Thirty-Third. "I am done. You may go." She gestured to the doorway behind her.

"We can leave?" asked the woman. She had not once taken her eyes from the green-skinned soldier during the conversation. "You'll just let us go?"

"By all means," said the Thirty-Third, and then felt pleased with herself. She was picking up their phrases already. Or had that come from somewhere inside? "The boy first, please. Send him out the front and follow on behind. If you are quick and do not draw attention to yourselves, my sisters may not catch you."

"And you won't hurt us?" asked the woman, but already she was pushing the boy beyond the table, her hands on his shoulders. "No tricks?"

"No tricks," agreed the Thirty-Third, affably enough. "My sword is on the floor."

The child, Gulley, shuffled forward a few steps at a time. He glanced at the empty doorway, to the tall soldier with the pointed teeth, and then back to the doorway.

"Go, Gulley," said the father, with forced cheeriness. "We'll see you outside."

"Do as your father says, Gulley," said the Thirty-Third in a solemn voice, but as he passed close to her she reached out with her clawed hands as if to caress his cheek and tore out his throat instead. The hot blood soaked her arm to the elbow, and she felt that warm sensation of satisfaction again. She turned to the parents just as the mother started screaming.

The sword only sped up the process, after all.

* * *

Outside, the streets were bright with fire. The Thirty-Third, now full and indolent as a snake, stood and looked into the billowing smoke. She was thinking about the questions she had asked, and some of the things she'd said.

"By all means," she murmured to herself. The words were both strange and not strange. There was someone else with her, in her blood, something that was not her mother. She knew it as well as she knew the faces of her brood sisters.

"We carry you with us, Father," she said to the blood-stained cobbles. "Can you feel it?"

* * *

Lost in a nightmare of blood and fire and pain, Rusl heard the voice that called him father – and felt his heart stop.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading guys! Hope you liked it!**


	14. Chapter 14

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **14**

* * *

Malon forced her eyes open and stared up into a purple sky framed with black branches.

Enormous trees loomed to either side, with gnarled trunks and branches filled with slick, dark green leaves. Bulbous populations of fungi crouched within the roots, like pale, watchful children, and wind moved mournfully through the treetops. Normally Malon disliked asking obvious questions, but on this occasion she felt she could hardly avoid it. "Where am I?"

There was no answer.

Hyrule had the aroma of a slop bucket left in the sun but the air here was fresh and clean. There was soil beneath her, dark and moist. She ran her fingers through it, taking in the smell of mud and trees, the deep earthy scent of an old place long guarded by nature. The dusty ruins of Hyrule had been replaced by a silent forest, and the dark skies above were mercifully empty of dragons.

She sat up, and all the aches and pains came flooding back. There was a sharp throbbing in her arm that was probably a fracture, and the top of her head was sore where one of those green bitches had surprised her. She looked down and was surprised to see that she was bloody all over. A few more memories clicked into place.

"Rusl!"

She scrambled to her feet. They were near a narrow ditch, fringed with ferns and squat bushes. A wave of dizziness caused her to stagger, and she spotted Link lying off to one side, his blond hair in disarray and his clothes still damp from the lake. He was rubbing his eyes with trembling hands. Rusl lay on his front, some distance from the pair of them. He wasn't moving.

She ran to his side and pulled him round to face her. The violence of their journey had removed the dagger, but his body felt boneless, and too heavy.

"Wake up!" She shook him by the shoulders. "We're out of there now. We're out of the Keep!"

"That will not help him."

Link appeared at her shoulder. There was a smudge of dirt on his cheek. Malon narrowed her eyes and punched him hard in the face. Link went flying backwards into the mud.

"You!" She dropped Rusl and went after Link, her fists tingling. "You let him die!"

"Wait." There was blood running from his lip. He held up a hand to ward her off. "I know how to help him."

Malon pulled Frostling from its scabbard. "Your lies won't save that pretty throat of yours now, princeling."

"The mages, there must be a healing spell, don't you see?" Link got to his feet warily, watching the blade. "Let me try, at least. If I cannot do it, then you can still cut my throat."

Malon paused, anger giving way to hope. Rusl would have advised caution, would have told her to calm down and give the princeling a chance. Stupid Rusl. Reluctantly, she sheathed the dagger.

"Go on, then," she said, trying not to let the fear show in her voice. "But I hope your mage's tricks are effective, for your sake."

Link went to Rusl's side without looking at her, and took the big knight's head between his hands.

"See if you can open his eyes," he said in a low voice.

Malon did as he instructed, although her stomach turned over anew when she pulled Rusl's eyelids up and saw the lifeless gaze they shielded. His blue eyes looked black in what little light there was.

"Good," said Link. He undid the straps that held Rusl's chainmail in place and pulled back the fleece beneath until the wound was revealed. The cut was small but deep, the skin there saturated with blood. Pressing his fingers against the wound, Link bent his head as if in prayer.

"What are you saying?" asked Malon.

He spared her an angry glance.

"I'm not saying anything, fool. Be quiet and let me think."

Malon briefly considered punching him again, but decided to let him do his work. After a few moments, during which it seemed to Malon that the forest grew unnaturally quiet, a soft rose light grew from the spaces between Link's fingers. It crawled over Rusl's bare chest like honey, and Malon saw the edges of the wound begin to close up.

"It's working," she said, but Link paid her no attention. He was sweating now, she saw, long strands of his think blond hair sticking to his forehead with it, and he was trembling all over. The pink light grew under his hands until it was so bright Malon could barely look at it.

"It's difficult to control …" he said, although Malon didn't think he was talking to her. "I don't remember. It's different."

After a few minutes the light began to throb rhythmically, and his eyes widened in surprise.

"There!" he gasped. Lifting his hands up from the wound the skin was smooth again. Rusl jerked violently and started coughing, while Link looked down at his hands in wonder.

His eyes met Malon's, and the smallest of smiles touched his lips.

"I could feel it rising up inside me, like a vast tide. Like the lake." His voice became distant, as though he were walking away from her down a long tunnel. "I think …" And with that his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell backwards into the mud for a second time. After a few moments Rusl sat up, rubbing his head. He looked down at his blood-soaked clothes, and then to the prone form next to him. "What happened to Lord Frith?" he asked, his voice little more than a croak.

Malon sighed.

"The princeling is so overcome with joy at your recovery he has, in fact, passed out at your feet." She paused, and punched Rusl lightly on the arm. "It is good to see you up and about, though. Want to help me figure out where we are?"

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry this is so short. And hey, have any of you noticed how out of character Malon is? Just wondering. Please comment if you haven't already, I would really like to know what you's think.**


	15. Chapter 15

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178  
**

* * *

 **15  
**

* * *

"You've done what?"

They were sitting around a small fire, huddling close to the flames. It had taken a while to get it going, with Malon cursing the damp forest in a colourful manner for many minutes, until, finally, a few weak flames had shown against the all-too-green branches they had gathered together. Rusl had helped as best he could, despite Malon's insistence that he sit still and gather his strength. In truth, he felt as well as he ever had. The terrible burning pain he had been dimly aware of since Pipit had stabbed him had completely gone, and even the aches and pains he might have expected to feel after the fight with the Kokiri were not there.

"Where else would you propose we go?" said Link. Now he was awake he appeared to be in a foul mood. Rusl suspected he was embarrassed by his fainting fit. "Returning to Hyrule was my goal all along."

"So you threw us back into the middle of this godforsaken wood? Wouldn't your big cosy castle have been a little more useful?" Malon snorted and poked at the fire with a stick. Link glowered at her.

"This is not an exact science. I don't know if you recall, but we were rather in danger of being eaten by an enormous dragon at the time."

"Yes, about that," said Rusl. "What do you propose we do about it?"

He watched Link and Malon exchange a look, their bickering temporarily forgotten.

"Do?" asked Link. "What do you mean?"

Rusl looked up at the sky. It was full dark now, and the stars were largely obscured by clouds, but here and there he could see a pinprick of light. They made him think of eyes, watching them.

"We unleashed a monster." He met Link's gaze, and then Malon's, who was watching him carefully. "Worse than that, an entire army of monsters. It's our fault. We have to go back and stop it. What do you suppose happened to Hyrule after we left? To the people that live there?"

"I'm sure I don't know," said Link. There was a new chill to his voice and Rusl realised he would get little help in that direction. "The City Guard will deal with it, I expect. Either way, my concerns lie here, in this forest. My castle is still in the hands of the People's Republic of Hyrule, and now that I have the means" – he held up his hands as if they might explode at any moment – "I intend to take it back. What you two do is of no concern to me. Go back to Lon-Haven, if you wish, and enjoy slaying your dragon."

"He's got a point, Rusl," said Malon. "We are … what, a thousand leagues from Lon-Haven now? More than that, probably. What can we do? Besides," she turned back to Link and kicked his boot, "the princeling here still owes us money. As far as I'm concerned, the job is done."

Link scowled.

"Once I have my castle back you will have your coin, wench."

Rusl bit down a protest, turning a hot chestnut over in his fingers. They had told him what had happened while he'd been unconscious, sharing the details of the lake under the Keep and the last desperate stand of Malon and the Kokiri against the scaled warriors (at which point Malon had shared her opinion on Link's actions in long and withering detail), and they had told him of the dragon that crawled out of the ruins of the Keep afterwards; even Link had seemed awed by it, shaking his head slowly as he described the creature's eyes of boiling yellow fire. What Rusl couldn't tell them was how he knew all this already. He'd felt the movement of the scaled soldiers in his own blood, felt the rise of the creature called Cia into the sunlight for the first time in millennia. If he closed his eyes for more than a few seconds he could almost see them; the shining crystal of their swords streaked with blood, the skies over Hyrule a baleful orange as everything burned. Cia had to be stopped, but Malon was right. How?

She and Link were arguing again. He dragged his attention back to the fire with effort.

"… how you expect to do that, anyway?"

"You have seen what I am capable of," spat Link. "I destroyed the Keep."

"I'm assuming that's not what you want to do with your castle?" replied Malon, grinning wickedly. "Be a bit of a wasted effort, really."

"I don't need to discuss my plans with the likes of you."

"Besides, are you really sure it's worth it?" Malon gestured to the black trees rising around them like sentinels. A bitter cold had come with the night and now tendrils of mist were swirling around the trunks, like cautious ghosts come to inspect the visitors.

"And what do you mean by that?"

"Well, you know –" Malon shrugged, and picked at the blood drying in her hair. "It's a bit, you know. Lots of trees, which is nice, if you like trees. Big, solid-looking trees. But that's about it. If I were you, I'd write it off as a loss and go and find something more interesting to do. Lon-haven is always looking for enterprising men with money in their pockets and a talent for destruction."

Link glared at her. He stood up abruptly, his blond hair falling over his forehead and obscuring the outrage in his eyes.

"I'm going for a walk." And with that he stalked off between the trees, his shoulders as narrow as a knife blade.

Malon caught Rusl's eye, a look of polite astonishment on her face that soon disintegrated into laughter. Despite himself, Rusl joined her.

"You've done it now."

"Oh, well, it's the least he deserves." The mirth faded and her face became serious again. "He really would have left you to die, Rusl. Me as well, although I'm not saying I couldn't have fought my way through those pointy-toothed devils."

"Perhaps he had a plan all along," said Rusl, although he didn't really believe that. "And I suspect that split lip of his is your doing?"

Malon tipped her head to one side.

"Like I said, it's the least he deserves."

"Either way, he shouldn't be out in that by himself." Rusl nodded towards the trees where he had vanished. The dark had closed over the young lord like a curtain. "Faron isn't the friendliest of forests. Wolves, bears. There will be all sorts of predators out here."

"Aye, I'll go after him." Malon stood up, and when she saw the look of surprise on Rusl's face she shrugged. "He still owes us money, remember? I'm not having him eaten by a wolf before he gets to that castle of his."

"Malon," Rusl smiled; it felt strange on his face, but not unwelcome, "your taste in men is perpetually disastrous."

"No worse than yours."

She made a face at him and sauntered off into the trees.

* * *

Link was stalking about some distance from the fire, just beyond its soft circle of light. His blond hair shone under the moonlight like a beacon. From his stiff-legged stride and hunched shoulders, Malon could tell he was sulking. She'd seen her own brother in that pose often enough.

"Watch where you're going, princeling!" she called after him. "Rusl says there are animals in this forest that would consider even your scrawny hide a tasty meal."

Link glowered at her as she approached.

"What do you want?"

"Just to make sure you're not thinking of doing anything stupid. You still owe us quite a bit of coin, you know."

"You'll get your money, sell-sword." He spat the word.

Once her eyes were adjusted to the gloom she could see the sharp angles of his face bathed in the glow of the distant fire. He really is quite comely, she thought.

"They have taken everything from me," said Link suddenly. He wasn't looking at her; instead he was staring off into the dark as though his enemies were hiding between the trees. "My family, my home. Everything we'd ever owned, it's all gone. They dragged me out of the dungeon once, you know, and took me up into the courtyard. The Lady Nabooru insisted that I be washed, as I was stinking up her castle." He snorted. "They threw buckets of water over me while there was still ice on the ground, and as I lay there shivering in the dirt I saw that they'd hung our servants from the walls. Every one of them. Their faces were all purple. Men and women who'd known me since I was born …" His voice trailed off.

Link hadn't told them much about what had driven him from his home, but it wasn't difficult to work out that it hadn't been pleasant. As Rusl pointed out to her between pints of ale, as long as they got paid, it didn't matter that Lord Frith wanted to keep the details to himself. But Malon was curious by nature, and tactless by choice.

"Why did they do it?"

Link glared at her for a few seconds before he answered.

"Why do thieves do anything? To take what isn't theirs, to ruin the lives of others." He gestured around at the crowded darkness. "The Friths have always been part of Faron. It's been our home for as long as anyone can remember. They used to say that if you cut a Frith they would bleed as much sap as blood. We have always been here."

"Was it an old enemy?"

Link shook his head.

"There were rumours that a group of mercenaries had crossed the border from Gerudo Desert, and perhaps if my father had taken more notice …" Link shook his head, as if completing the sentence was futile. "My brother Colin was nine years old. I don't even know what they did with his body."

Malon found she didn't know what to say. She also found that she was feeling a little guilty for punching Link in the mouth, and she didn't like that at all.

"Listen," she said, scratching the back of her head. Her hair felt caked with dirt. "You saved Rusl. It was your fault that he was in that state in the first place and you would have left us both for dead, and it was only lucky that the lake worked at all and –" she took a deep breath – "what I mean to say is, thank you. For saving Rusl. You brought him back and I'm grateful for that."

Link cleared his throat.

"I didn't mean to cause either of you injury."

"How did you do it? Useful thing to know how to do."

Link shook his head, looking out into the dark.

"I'm not sure I could tell you, even if you were capable of understanding. The knowledge is there inside my head, but it's like it's written in a language I cannot decipher. Sometimes, like when I brought down the ceiling in the Keep, or I healed the knight, the power that is simmering inside me seems to boil up and take over."

"And you brought us here from Hyrule."

"A useful power, but a dangerous one. My control over where we arrive is shaky at best, if you recall. It seems to be summoned by desperation, or fear. I'm not sure I could even do it again." He frowned. "If you really want to know, I did intend to land us somewhere within the grounds of the castle. The kitchens, in fact, but this –" he gestured around at the trees pressing in on all sides – "Faron trees, soldier pines, red oaks … we could be anywhere. Not to mention I am unsure what the violence of our passage has done to the place we've left behind."

Malon shrugged.

"With a bit of luck, it will have killed the rest of those pointy-toothed bitches. I took quite a beating from them, I don't mind telling you, and I'm a tough old feline."

"Where are you injured? Perhaps I can help." Link stepped up close to her.

"Nothing too drastic. Don't you worry your golden head about it, princeling. I've had worse."

"I can help though." He took hold of her arm, and she gasped.

"There?"

"I think I took a good knock to it when I fell on the steps. Probably bruised a bone or something. Not that I'm going to keep on about it but that was your fault. And I cut my head."

"Of course," he murmured. "I saw the blood." Keeping one hand on her arm, he placed the fingers of his other hand on one side of her face, and then gently pushed them back into her hair. His eyes were unfocussed, and his face was very close to hers.

"What are you doing?" Being this close to him made her uneasy. His hands felt warm against her cold skin.

"Be quiet," he said. A flicker of annoyance passed over his face. "The power is rising. Do not disrupt it."

"There really is no need. A glass or two of mead and I'll be right as—"

"Malon." His tone brooked no argument. "Be quiet."

She did as he bid, quietly making a note to get her own back later. His hands were more than warm now, they were hot, and her skin was beginning to tingle where he touched her. It was not an entirely unpleasant experience. A soft pink glow began to grow between them.

"I think it's working," said Link, a hint of wonder in his voice.

"I can feel it." Malon couldn't help grinning, and he returned the smile. "It's like slipping into a bath that's slightly too hot, and it makes you kind of sleepy …"

A low rumbling growl from behind them dried up the words in her throat. Looking over Link's shoulder she could see a pair of huge green eyes emerging from the gloom, just above a slavering set of pointed teeth. The creature that lumbered towards them out of the dark was a walking nightmare; it resembled a bear, but it was taller, with longer, thinner limbs and short grey hair on its musty pelt. The head was elongated, apparently to make room for the row upon row of jagged teeth set in its jaw, while its luminous eyes seemed to swivel in their sockets. It came for them on its back legs, seven and a half feet of muscle and teeth.

Malon broke away from Link's embrace and slid both daggers from her belt in one smooth movement. Link looked momentarily dazed, but when the animal roared again, a furious rattle in the back of its throat, the pink glow around his hands vanished abruptly and he turned to face it. "A Faron bear," he said as he retreated. "Very dangerous."

"Tell me something I don't know, princeling!"

The creature dropped to all fours and roared again, peeling blackened lips back from teeth shiny with slaver. The back of its throat was very pink, and Malon found she could hardly drag her eyes from it. As she watched, it lowered its head and dragged its paws through the dirt, leaving ragged lines on the forest floor.

"Get behind me," said Link.

"Get behind you? I'm the one with the daggers!"

"I can stop it."

"And you know how to do that, do you?"

But before he could answer the bear was charging. Malon dived out the way and ran for the nearest tree, but Link only sidestepped, holding his hands up as if they were powerful weapons."

"What are you doing? Run!"

The bear came to a stop some feet away before shaking its long narrow head and sniffing the air noisily. The oddly blind-looking eyes swivelled round to find them again, and soon it was shifting around for a second strike, saliva dripping from its jaws. Link watched it warily, circling constantly to prove a harder target. Malon paused at the foot of the tree, torn between running for safety and seeing the source of her future riches get ripped into tiny pieces.

"I can do this," cried Link, but there was no light of any kind emitting from his hands now; no rosy glow, no forked lightning. For a moment the animal paused, as though it were confused by its prey's failure to retreat. "I just need to … remember."

"It's going to eat you!"

The bear rose up on its back legs again, roaring as it threw itself towards Link. Swearing bitterly, Malon ran at its back and jumped, hooking both daggers into the creature's meaty shoulders. It bellowed, so loudly that Malon thought she would fall off from the force of that alone, and hot blood soaked her forearms. She pulled one dagger free and tried to bring it down once more into the animal's thick neck while digging her knees into its back, but it took the opportunity to shake her off, and the next thing she knew she was face down in a clump of thistles.

She turned over onto her back only to see the creature looming above her. Beyond its head she could see the cool indifference of that evening's stars, and the black branches of the trees stretching towards them, forever out of reach. The bear roared again, blasting her with its foul breath.

"Urgh. You smell as bad as you look."

Malon instinctively grabbed for her daggers only to discover she had neither; one, presumably, was still stuck in the creature's back, and she'd lost the other when she'd been thrown to the ground. She just had time to curse Link and his reliance on magic before the bear lunged at her, teeth bared … when it suddenly sprouted three feet of silvery steel from its neck. Malon saw the puzzlement in its eyes before it fell over sideways, revealing Rusl on the other end of his sword. He placed a booted foot on the animal's head and drew it free again, the blade slick with blood.

"As I think I mentioned before, this isn't the friendliest of forests," he said.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading guys!**


	16. Chapter 16

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **16**

* * *

The roof of the building had caved in, opening it to the night sky. The rows and rows of wooden shelves were on fire, as were their contents, but fire held little threat for the Thirty-Third. She walked sedately down the burning aisles while ash and flakes of paper flew up towards the hole in the roof, carried on the waves of heated air. They spiralled past her like errant fireflies, although she wasn't sure why she thought that. Certainly she couldn't remember ever seeing a firefly herself. Clouds of black smoke were making it hard to see, and the smell was scratching at the back of her throat. It would be uncomfortable to stay here much longer.

"Sister." A lithe figure stepped from the smoke to her left. It was the Ninety-Seventh, her green skin smudged with ashes. "Do you know what this building was?"

The Thirty-Third looked around, taking in the brick walls, the shelves with their rows and rows of squarish, leather-covered items. Some of the shelves reached halfway to the roof. She picked one of the items off a shelf that was only smouldering and turned it over in her hands until the word came to her.

"These are books," she said.

"Yes." The Ninety-Seventh came towards her. She had handfuls of blackened paper in her fists. "And this was a library." She said the word very carefully, as if not entirely sure how it sounded. "Isn't it curious that we know?"

"Is it?" The Thirty-Third shifted her weight. It was hot, and she was growing bored.

"I think so, yes. Do you remember knowing the words before? When we were below the rocks?"

"How would I know? We have never seen these books."

"But we know what they are." The Ninety-Seventh looked down at the paper in her hands. The heat was now intense enough for it to have burst into flames again, so she threw it onto the floor and snatched the book from her brood sister's hands. "Here, look at this." She opened it to a random page, revealing lines and lines of small black shapes. She held it up in front of the Thirty-Third's face. "Look at it!"

The Thirty-Third ran her eyes down the page, and to her surprise, images came to her mind that weren't there before. A green meadow with a swollen stream at its heart, still choked with pieces of ice from a recent snowstorm. She shook her head abruptly.

"What was that?"

"Words. Books. Library. Words!" The Ninety-Seventh shook the book at her. Her delicate features were twisted in confusion. "We can speak and we can read. These are the words in our heads written down." She turned to another page and read randomly, "in the spring the ice-melt will be gone and the salmon will return".

"So what?" said the Thirty-Third. She felt uneasy.

"This is new. Beneath the ground we knew none of this. We slept, we ate, we waited. We listened to the sound of our mother's voice. There were no words in our heads."

For a moment the Ninety-Seventh's lips trembled, and the Thirty-Third took hold of her arm firmly. She could feel her sister's confusion, and for the first time in her short life she was afraid.

"It doesn't matter," she said, forcing her voice to be steady. "We should leave now."

As if summoning it, there was a huge roar from outside, and the walls of the building shook, sending an avalanche of dust into the fires. The library would not be standing much longer.

"Mother is calling us," said the Ninety-Seventh. Her eyes caught her sister's and the Thirty-Third knew they were both thinking of the same thing. Of the other one. Where was he now?

The Thirty-Third and the Ninety-Seventh of the brood army left at a pace, heading for the cool evening air beyond the smouldering doorway. The Ninety-Seventh still clutched the book to her chest.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading, and I hope you comment!**


	17. Chapter 17

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **17**

* * *

Rusl stood alone in a field of blood. In the distance he could see the jagged blue mountains of home, the sacred god-peaks of Hylia, Farore, Din and Nayru. He could feel them watching him, particularly Hylia, to whom his sword had been sworn, but they were so very far away. For a moment he felt the longing he hid from himself in the waking hours; to be back with his sworn brothers, the weight of the mountain's voice forever in his heart.

He looked down and was surprised to find he was wearing the clothes he had worn on his first pilgrimage to Hylia. A thick cloak of blue wool covered his shoulders, and his surcoat was embroidered with the symbols of a novice. The closed fist, the hawk in flight, a ring of stones – each constituted a hard-won lesson. There was a pain in his chest, sharp and insistent. Had he been wounded?

A roar dragged his eyes back up to the horizon, and his nostrils filled with the stench of burning flesh. A great shadow was coming, passing over the god-peaks and covering them in a deep darkness, as though they were little more than hills in the sand. It rushed on towards him, bringing a tide of smothering fear. Rusl shrank back, fumbling to draw his sword from its scabbard with fingers suddenly numb, but the shadow passed on and over him before he could strike. The roar sounded again, so loud that Rusl dropped to his knees.

"What are you?" he cried, and a thousand voices answered.

" _We are ruin. We are your children."  
_

* * *

He woke with a start, the pain in his chest fading swiftly, although the images from the dream did not. Malon stood over him with one boot resting on his leg and her hands on her hips. There was a strong scent of cooking eggs in the air.

"If you want any breakfast, you want to move fast," she said. "Three days in this miserable forest have given me quite the appetite." She gave his leg another shove for good measure, and went back to the fire. Link was bent over the battered iron pan with a fork and an expression of intense concentration on his face.

Rusl sat up, wondering if his colleague had spotted the way his hands were trembling. She didn't normally miss such things, but then Malon before breakfast was somewhat unpredictable. In truth, he had rarely felt less like eating.

"Where did we get eggs from?"

"Our woodsman here found a nest," said Malon, gesturing to Link. "Weird little blue-green eggs; I wouldn't touch them, but he reckons they'll taste fine once they're all scrambled up."

"And that is not all I found," said Link, looking up from the pan. "There is a small town less than an hour's walk from here."

Despite the dread lining his stomach, Rusl was glad to hear that. Since their sudden arrival in the midst of Faron they had been walking, trying to find one of the numerous small villages Link insisted populated the region. The problem was that Link only had the vaguest idea where they'd arrived, and so far the place had been conspicuously free of landmarks. By the second day, Malon had taken to exclaiming wonder at each new copse of trees or pile of stones, until Rusl was certain she and Link would come to blows again. It didn't help that twice now Link's magic had burst into life of its own accord, setting fire to a bush on one occasion, and later lighting up the young lord like a beacon and scaring scores of birds from the surrounding trees. He said there was nothing he could do to control it, and the apparently random nature of the mage's power seemed to have put Link in a volatile mood, particularly when Malon insisted on referring to it as 'the princeling's little problem'.

"Is it a place you know?" Rusl seated himself by the fire, glad of its scant warmth, and Malon pressed a clay cup filled with tea into his hands.

"If it is the town I believe it to be, then yes, I visited it once or twice in the company of my father. Kakariko. There was a tower, an inn, the usual collection of peasants." He shrugged. "We should be able to find horses there and gather supplies."

"Those eggs are starting to burn," put in Malon. Link took the pan off the fire and wedged it in the dirt between them.

"I will announce myself to the jarl in charge, and commandeer what we need. We may even be able to take a small force of men to Faron Keep, although I doubt I shall require them."

"Is that wise?" said Rusl. He took a spoonful of the eggs. They were salty and slightly blackened on the bottom, but despite his lack of appetite the taste of hot food was glorious. "Forgive me, my lord, but you have no way of knowing the situation in Kakariko. It could be occupied by the Republic's forces."

"He's right," said Malon. She shovelled a portion of eggs into her mouth and spoke round them. "Best have a look at the situation first before you go in there all lit up like a lighthouse."

Link frowned into his breakfast, obviously unhappy with this plan, but Rusl could see that he understood the necessity of it too. What made a man so relentlessly self-reliant? It clearly pained him to take the advice of anyone. Rusl looked up to see Malon wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. _I suppose we are hardly the wisest of advisors._

"I do not understand it," said Link. "When we were in the Keep the power surged through me, and all I needed to do was think, and it obeyed. I could hear the mages too, the whispers of their lost knowledge were like echoes in my head." He shook his head and scraped the last of the eggs from the pan. "Now that is gone, and the power works only when it wishes to." His hand tightened on the pan until his knuckles turned white. "Why? How can it be? Did I travel so far for nothing?"

"Perhaps the remnants of the mages were an influence," said Rusl in a quiet voice. "We know so little about them after all – their history, their methods." _We were like children poking at a viper's nest,_ he thought. _What can we know about what we've unleashed?_

"No," said Link to no one in particular. He threw the fork into the pan with a clatter. "I took the power from them, and I shall bend it to my will. It's just a … period of adjustment, that's all." He looked up at them both, his dark brows knitted together in a determined expression. "Do not take too long over breakfast."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading guys and don't forget to comment!**


	18. Chapter 18

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **18**

* * *

Kakariko was much as he remembered it.

There had been a time when Link's father had developed a sudden and keen interest in all the small towns and villages dotted throughout Faron. He had travelled to each of them, sometimes with one or all of his sons, and always with a small retinue of household servants.

Link remembered his father on those trips as clearly as if it were yesterday; sitting atop his grey horse in the weak spring sunshine, a small smile beneath his neat brown beard. All Lord Frith's smiles were small things.

Their visit to Kakariko had been marked by a sudden spring snow. Link, in his early teens then, had clung to the neck of his horse and complained bitterly about the cold. His father, as usual, had ignored him. As they emerged from the treeline to the wide clearing that marked the edge of Kakariko, he'd gestured at the town wall with one gloved hand. "An ancient place, Link," he'd said. "One of the oldest."

"It certainly looks likely to fall down any moment," Link had replied sourly.

"Not at all, boy." His father's eyes had narrowed. "The men and women who built these places knew what they were doing."

And perhaps he'd been right. The town wall, built of solid chunks of dull grey stone, was still standing much as it had been. The tops weren't brushed with snow, but that was the only difference Link could spot. The southern gate looked as strong as it had done ten years ago, although it stood wide open today. They could see the tops of the roofs from where they stood, and there was a thin haze of smoke from numerous wood fires hanging over the town. At the furthest edge of Kakariko a slim shape poked towards the sky, stark against the black of the trees. Malon pointed at it.

"What's that?"

"The Queen's Tower." Link blinked as more memories came back. "It was where the old jarl lived."

"Not a bad place to make your home."

Link nodded. The tower was constructed of pale milk-stone, a material not found locally and very expensive to transport. At regular intervals there were wide windows, and even a balcony, although they couldn't see that from where they were.

"It was built for Queen Zelda of Faron, back when they had kings and queens. The people loved her so they paid for many such monuments." Link paused, remembering. "My father used to tell me stories of Good Queen Zelda, about how she rid the forest of bandits and fought for her people. He was very keen on history. I think those stories were his favourites …" He cleared his throat and turned to look at the pair of sell-swords. "I am not certain this is the best course of action."

"Of course it is," said Malon immediately. "You can't go in there, not without knowing who might be there to greet us. And even with the blond hair someone could recognise you. And Rusl here, well," she gestured at the knight's imposing frame, and the broadsword slung over his back, "I'm the least conspicuous of the three of us. People very rarely notice me until it's too late." She smirked, but when she caught Link's expression her face grew serious again. "I'll go in there and have a look around, that's all. Give me some money."

"What? I've already given you money."

"Which is now mine. I need coin for the furtherment of our mission, which will be coming out of your pocket."

"What for?"

In answer Malon gestured at her bare arms, and Rusl's torn and bloody cloak.

"We need some new clothes, and you need a good hooded cloak so that we can cover you up, pretend you're a leper or something." Link didn't move, so she held her hands up, palms out. "Do you honestly think I'm going to scarper now? I'll go in there, buy some supplies, find out if the town is crawling with enemies, and then I'll come straight back. I swear it on my claws."

Link sighed and passed her a coin purse from his belt.

"Do not squander it. My funds are not inexhaustible."

She smiled, pocketing the purse, and headed off towards the town. He and Rusl watched as she left the trees and strode along the path to the distant gate, growing smaller all the while. Link cleared his throat, suddenly filled with unease.

"She does not seem built for stealth."

A ghost of a smile moved over Rusl's face.

"Then you have never seen her sneaking out the back way when it's time for the bar bill to be paid. Don't worry, Malon can be sensible sometimes. She'll get what she needs in there and be back before we have a chance to enjoy the silence."

* * *

Malon headed straight for the tavern. A number of years exploring strange towns had given her an instinct for locating the best drinking hole. A quick pint, she reasoned, just for refreshment purposes. Refreshment, and possible information gathering. The princeling could hardly begrudge her that.

The guards on the gate had watched her closely as she entered, but she had squared her shoulders and walked past them just as if she'd been there a thousand times before, and they hadn't said a word. Although she had been careful not to make eye contact, she had taken note of their uniforms; decent mail and boiled black leather. They all had a strange symbol painted onto their round, wooden shields – a red oval, with two black holes in the upper half. It vaguely resembled a very simple face, or perhaps a mask, covered in blood. Was that the sigil of the People's Republic of Hyrule? She couldn't be sure, but she didn't believe so. Rusl would have known in a second. She saw more of these guards as she headed deeper in, and these ones had the look of battle-born men about them, carrying swords that looked well cared for. Malon was careful to appear deeply uninterested in them.

The town of Kakariko itself was rather gloomy, thanks to the smoky rock its stones were hewn from and the dark timbers of Faron. Here and there huge oak trees grew, spreading their branches in a protective gesture over the town below. Someone had hung strings of blue and white bunting between the branches to cheer the place up a bit, but recent rains had soaked the fabric through and they clung to the bark like bedraggled lovers. The people didn't do anything to dispel Malon's disquiet either. She saw men and women with baskets of bread, mothers with children hanging on their skirts, all going about their daily business, but it was impossible to miss the haunted expressions on their faces. _It's almost normal,_ thought Malon, _very almost completely normal apart from the way they look at the guards, and the way they look at the tower._

The pale edifice stood at the far end of the town, its lower half hidden by wagons full of mouldering hay. A black flag was flying from the top, embroidered with the same red mask face she'd seen on the guards. The windows she could see were wide and generous but dark, and she could not see inside. The townsfolk kept glancing fearfully up at the tower, as if they didn't dare to look away for long. _They have the look of a dog that has been beaten too often, and now lives in constant fear of its master's hand,_ thought Wydrin.

The tavern, when she found it, was called The Stock Pot Inn, and she stepped through the door gratefully, glad to be off the street. Inside it was so dark that she had to blink for a few seconds to get her bearings; chairs, tables, a bar that had seen better days, made all the grubbier by the dirty light managing to force its way through the thick leaded windows. Malon dragged a boot through the sawdust on the floor. It was reasonably clean, and the air smelled more of ale than of vomit. Even more encouraging, there didn't appear to be any bloodstains on the tables. Malon relaxed a little. She had a long and varied history with taverns, and knew the dangerous ones on sight.

There were a handful of townspeople inside, sipping foamy ale with their heads down. A few looked up as she entered the bar, and Malon saw one or two glance towards the daggers on her belt. She ignored them and stepped up to the counter, placing her hands flat on the top and beaming at the serving woman.

"Mead, please."

For a few moments the woman looked as though she wasn't going to move, let alone fetch Malon her mead.

"And who might you be?" she said eventually.

"A traveller from the Stoney Sea," said Malon, readily enough. There was no use in lying, Malon knew she could not disguise the salt of Lon-haven in her voice. "Just making my way through. And you are?"

The woman frowned.

"Mead, was it?"

She bustled off, apparently no longer interested in an exchange of information. She returned with a slightly warped glass filled with a warm golden liquid; it was the brightest thing in the place. Malon fished a few coins from the purse on her belt and put them on the counter.

"Thank you kindly. So what's the news from Kakariko?'

A strange parade of emotions flickered across the woman's face then; Malon saw shock, and anger, and lastly fear. The woman glanced around the tavern, as though she were looking for someone.

"Just drink your mead and get out," she spat before walking stiffly up to the other end of the bar to refill another glass.

Charming place.

Malon took a sip. It tasted like it might have seen some honey once. Or possibly a few dead bees.

Glancing down the bar she noticed two men nursing full tankards. Neither looked to be fighting men, and yet they both wore bloody bandages. One held his drink awkwardly, apparently missing two fingers on his left hand, and the other leaned heavily on the bar, his head half covered in bloody rags.

Malon looked away hurriedly. There was trouble here, and not the useful sort that ended in a large bag of coins …

"Have you travelled far, child?" came a voice in Malon's ear. It was close and soft, and very precise. "You appear to have rolled down a hill of thistles."

Malon turned to find a tall, older woman standing next to her. She forced down the initial surge of alarm with effort; very few people could sneak up on her so successfully, even in a tavern. The woman who had moved so silently was as thin and hard as a poker. Painfully sharp cheekbones pushed at warm olive skin, and she wore dark blue robes over worn riding leathers. The most striking aspect of her appearance were the tattoos; writing in a strange alphabet covered both her cheeks from her eyes downwards, and her arms and hands were covered in the same text. A Regnisse of Relios, then, otherwise known as a fire-priestess. Malon knew without having to look that the woman's back would be covered in more of the holy writing, as well as other areas best not mentioned to a holy person. _Oh, that's all I need,_ she thought. _A priest._

"It's been a long time since I was a child, sister."

"And I am not your sister."

Malon caught the older woman's eye, and there passed a moment that flickered between mutual dislike and mutual amusement. Relios was the tempestuous land beyond the deserts of Gerudo. Her father had said it was a place of angry gods and sharp people. The land itself would shake apart regularly, leading to huge fissures in the ground and whole cities lost in a few moments of violence. The Regnisse Accordance were made up of two groups of priests: those who studied history and ancient languages, and dedicated their lives to the spread of knowledge, and those who usually stayed within Relios and watched the trembling earth for signs from their gods. To Malon it sounded rather like looking up at the clouds and searching for the shape of a bunny rabbit or a castle, or listening to the sound of waves crashing against your hull and hearing voices. She'd pointed this out to a fire-priest in a tavern in Zora's Domain once and still had a small scar on her left forearm as a memento of the occasion. Holy people they might be, but they still knew how to handle their blades.

"Can I buy you a drink, Regnisse?" said Malon, deciding to err on the side of caution.

The fire-priestess glanced at the glass of mead.

"You didn't answer my question."

Malon took another sip, playing for time.

"I have travelled a long way, yes." She gestured at her ragged appearance. "I tangled with one of your bears on the way here. Nasty great brute."

"A Faron bear?" The Regnisse raised one thin eyebrow. "If you had truly fought one of those, you would be dead." She glanced round at the other customers, her lips pressed together into an expression Malon couldn't quite read. 2And I wouldn't talk about that here, if I were you. Not a good subject for general discussion, shall we say."

Malon's small amount of patience for priests was suddenly exhausted.

"Listen, I'm just here for a quick drink before I pick up some supplies and move on, so I could really do without all the cryptic warnings and veiled threats."

The priestess sighed.

"Yes, I can see that all warnings and threats will have to be loud and possibly written down in large simple letters, if there is to be any hope of your understanding them." She leaned in close and lowered her voice. "My name is Rutela, and I am telling you, young woman, that this is a bad place for strangers at the moment. A bad place for everyone. They let you in the gate, yes? Just walked in straight past them, yes? You will find it significantly more difficult to walk back out again, child. You can come in, but you can't go back out again. Those are Ganondorf's orders.'

"Who's Ganondorf?"

Rutela looked pained, and gestured at Malon to keep her voice down.

"You have seen the guards, yes? With the painted face on their shields?"

Malon nodded.

"Ganondorf commands them, and these days the people of Kakariko live in fear."

"Why?"

"Because he's killing them."

* * *

 **A/N: I believe I've said this before but... DU DU DUUUUUUU! lol. Hope you liked this chapter, and don't forget to comment!**


	19. Chapter 19

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **19**

* * *

"She should be back by now."

Link paced back and forth, trying to keep his eyes on his boots. If he looked up he was drawn back to the town and the tower, and he was sick of looking at the damn place. Instead he forced himself to enjoy the newly fluid movement of his leg, the shattered bones within now completely healed. The limp was gone, his ear had grown back, and the scar had vanished from his face. It was a joyous thing. A miracle.

"It really is quite intolerable!" he snapped. "How long can it take one person to fetch supplies? Must we wait out here all day doing nothing?"

Rusl, crouched against the wide trunk of an oak tree, grunted in response. And that was the other irritation; the big knight, usually so calm and accommodating, now appeared distracted, even moody. Link was regretting hiring either of them.

The afternoon was drawing on, and the light filtering down through the trees was growing dimmer all the time. Familiar bird calls filled the air, making him think of his boyhood hunting in the woods around the castle, and such memories only made him more anxious to move. He stopped pacing and put his hands on his hips, facing the walled town.

"I think we should go in there," he said. "She clearly cannot be trusted to do this, so we must do it ourselves." He kicked Rusl's booted foot. "Get up, Rusl. Let's go."

Rusl lumbered to his feet wearing a conciliatory expression.

"Give her a little more time, my lord. We have no idea what the situation is, nor how many people might recognise you. It would be wise to—" Before he could finish Rusl staggered, swaying on his feet.

Link frowned. "Are you well?"

"I don't – I don't feel …" The tall man had gone almost as pale as when Pipit had stabbed him, and his eyes looked glassy and unfocussed. Link didn't like it.

"You are ill," he said. "I told you not to let her cook that rabbit. I'm surprised we're not all emptying our bowels into a ditch somewhere."

A rush of blood came from Rusl's nose, soaking his mouth and chin and running down his neck. The knight pressed his hands to his face and the blood ran between his fingers.

"They're burning everything," he said, quite clearly. "Killing it and cutting it and I can feel the blood moving." Rusl dropped to his knees, muttering.

"What is wrong with you? Get up."

Link bent down and slung an arm round the knight's shoulders in an attempt to drag him to his feet again, although his hopes of achieving that were rather slim. Rusl was a big man, and if he wanted to sit down Link would be unable to stop him.

"Come on now, I didn't heal you just for you to go bleeding all over the place again."

He heaved, feeling Rusl's battered armour digging into his side, when a nearby shadow peeled away from the trees and approached them, sword in hand.

"You don't want to be doing any bleeding round here," the stranger said.

Link whirled, his hand reaching for the rapier that was now lost beneath the Keep.

"Stay back!"

The newcomer looked at him, his expression unreadable. He was a rangy, gaunt man, as tall as Rusl but with narrow shoulders and long wiry arms that suggested a kind of contained strength. He wore a ragged mixture of leather and wool, and there was a huge fur pelt slung over his back. There was, Link couldn't help noticing, a lot of dried blood on his fingers, and the short sword he carried looked well-used.

The man looked from Link to Rusl, who was now sitting with his legs out in front of him and his head tipped back to stem the flow of blood from his nose.

"No blood," he said again, nodding at Rusl. "Not if you know what's good for you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Course, it would be a mercy to those poor fellas if you was to distract them for a bit. Would that be a mercy, though? Or would that be prolonging it, like? I reckon another night in those cages could be worse, you know, than getting all torn to bits, but what would I know? I don't and I don't want to, and who would? No one, that's who."

Link blinked a few times. Despite his vaguely aggressive appearance, the man seemed more intent on talking than killing.

"Who are you?" he said, as clearly as possible. "And what do you mean?"

The stranger frowned at him as though he were unused to other people asking questions, and then nodded at Rusl.

"You want to put something cold on that. That would be the safest thing. You want to know who I am, do you? My name is Jakamar, although how that helps you I'm sure I don't know. Best bury those bloody rags, son, and bury 'em somewhere you won't be returning to."

Rusl's nosebleed appeared to have stopped, although his face was still white.

"Why?" His voice was muffled and thick.

"The bears, of course." Jakamar gestured behind him, as though the entire forest were bristling with bears. "They'll be down here at dusk, looking for what they've put out fresh, and maybe they'll fancy some proper sport rather than taking whichever poor bastard has been put in the cages. If I were a bear, would I want to chase and hunt? I think I would."

Link and Rusl exchanged a glance.

"Cages?"

Jakamar walked round with them, keeping to the treeline. He nodded at the black-clothed guards on the wall surrounding Kakariko. They had clearly spotted the small group skirting along the trees, but were doing nothing besides watching their progress.

"They won't come down here now, you see, too close to feeding time. I come up here as the sun goes down and I tries to clear away what I can, and as long as I don't try to free the poor buggers or scare the bears off they leaves me be. Once or twice I've moved away enough of the mess so that the animals have left them alone for the night, but does that help? Another night in those cages, I tell you, I wouldn't want it."

"But why?" asked Rusl. He still felt lightheaded and his nose was throbbing faintly. Concentrating on the tall man in the furs was difficult. Inside his head he could still smell the smoke as the city burned. "Who would do such a thing?"

"A leader of men, or the biggest monster amongst a horde of demons." Jakamar twisted his lips and spat into the bushes. "I live out in Faron, don't go in the town much, see? So I wasn't here when the guards and the red faces came. Once they came, the townsfolk weren't let back out again. I've heard the guards talking, though, when they don't know I'm there. You think any of them ever walked through a forest with a mind to be quiet? Have they, buggery. His name's Ganondorf, is what I heard. Come up from down south." Link stopped suddenly.

"Ganondorf? Ganondorf is here?"

"You know him, do ya?" Jakamar turned a speculative eye on Link, raising one bushy brown eyebrow. "He's a demon-worshipper, is what I've heard."

But Link was already turning towards the town wall, a look of alarming fury on his face. Rusl reached out and snatched at his arm, holding him back.

"Where do you think you're going," he hissed, before adding, in a milder tone of voice, "my lord?"

"Ganondorf is in there." Link's blue eyes were shining fever bright. "The man who ordered the execution of my family, who took my castle, who had me tortured …" He wrenched his sleeve from Rusl's grip so violently the fabric ripped down the seam. "I will go in there now, and I will separate his head from his body.2 He pointed at the wall, where the guards were starting to take more of an interest.

"'Ere, what's that you're talking about?" Jakamar was peering closely at Link's face.

"Nothing, just – nothing." Rusl fixed Link with what he hoped was his most reasonable expression. "Think, my lord. Think. We must know everything we can first. The size of his forces, his reasons for being here—"

At that moment a terrible scream wrought the air. It went on for some time, and then degenerated into noisy sobbing.

"Damn the gods, they're early," said Jakamar.

And with that he set off at a run. Link and Rusl had little choice but to follow him, although Rusl soon came to wish they hadn't. Around the corner from where they had stood, five large metal cages were set close to the town wall. They were tall and narrow, too thin for a man to sit down or even crouch in. Two of the cages were still occupied with living people; a fat man and an old woman, both naked and both gripping the bars of the cage in terror. The cages were hanging on chains from a makeshift gallows that stuck out from the wall, and as the man screamed (it was the man screaming, Rusl noted as his stomach turned over, although his voice had lost all gender in his terror) his cage rocked wildly back and forth. And the noise was only attracting the bear all the more.

It was, Rusl guessed, a good foot taller than the bear that had attacked them in the forest, and certainly bulkier. It had the same long narrow head and shining eyes, and its black claws were already streaked with gore. The other three cages contained bodies in various stages of decomposition, all with terrible wounds.

Jakamar blew air through his teeth, frowning.

"Bloody creatures are learning to come at the same time each day, whether they can smell it or not." His weathered face twisted into a grimace.

"Why are they doing this?" said Link. His earlier expression of fury had fled, and been replaced with one of extreme distaste. "For what end?"

"For information, they says." Jakamar nodded towards the guards. "The Friths had a great treasure, they says, but no one knows where they hid it. Ganondorf intends to find out, and he's got a whole team of torturers in that tower there. The man is dead keen on torture, that's what they say."

"The Friths?" said Link. He looked like he'd been struck in the stomach.

"Whatever it is, I am stopping it now," said Rusl. He drew the sword from the scabbard on his back and revelled in the sound of its escape. He'd been idle too long. Perhaps he couldn't stop the slaughter happening in a distant city on another continent but that didn't mean he would stand by while other innocents were killed.

"You can't!" Jakamar slapped the big knight on the shoulder. "Do you not think I'd have done that if I could? Look." He pointed to the guards again, and this time Rusl saw the longbows. "They'll shoot, don't think they won't. And they're good shots, too."

"I still have to try."

He turned away from them and ran at the approaching bear. For a few seconds it was too intent on the blood-smeared cages to take notice, until Rusl shouted in its direction. It was important to get its attention away from the prisoners.

"Hoy! You ugly creature! Dinner's been cancelled."

The luminous eyes swivelled towards him then, and the bear growled, revealing long yellow teeth. Distantly Rusl could hear shouting from the wall. The animal turned and lowered its head, bellowing.

Rusl hefted the weight of his broadsword in his hands, and ran towards it, slightly to its right. The animal shifted that way, expecting the attack, so Rusl turned swiftly to the left and swung low at the bear's shoulder. At that moment an arrow thudded into the ground next to his foot, the red fletching feathers bright against the soil, and he stumbled, turning the blow so that it only scraped against the bear's flank. The animal roared and flung one huge, razor-clawed paw in his direction, but for all his size Rusl had always been quick on his feet, and he moved out of its path just in time. Another arrow struck the steel plate on his arm at an angle, ricocheting off and undoubtedly leaving a bruise, and then another took the bear in the leg. The animal, already bleeding from where Rusl had struck it, tossed its head in pain and fury and backed away. It cast one last look at the shivering humans in the cages and disappeared back into the forest. Rusl watched it go before looking back at the guards on the wall. They all had their bows trained on him. The next voice that spoke was coming from behind him. "You'll die for that, you big bastard."

There stood a group of about ten guards, all dressed in black leathers and with a red mask sigil on their shields. Jakamar and Link were in front of them, the guards holding short swords to their throats. The guard who had spoken was a squat, powerfully built man with ruddy marks on his face from some pox he'd suffered in the past. He grinned at Rusl, revealing rather more gums than teeth.

"We'll kill your pretty little friend here first though."

"No, wait." Rusl sheathed his sword and held up his hands. "We have information for you."

"Shut up, Sebastian," said Link. The burly guard laughed.

"What sort of information is that, then?"

Rusl took a deep breath. "The location of the Frith vault."

Link swore loudly, the first time Rusl could recall him doing so. He didn't look at him, and kept his eyes on the guard instead.

"You tell me, then, and maybe I'll let you go."

Rusl shook his head. He was very aware of the people in the cages behind him; the fat man, the old woman. He could feel their eyes on his back.

"I want to speak to Ganondorf. He's the only person I'll be telling anything to."

The guard frowned.

"You're not in any position to be bargaining, my son."

"Maybe not, but how many of your men do you think I can kill before you kill me? Enough to make them hesitate before they come over here, I'll bet. Take me to Ganondorf. I'm sure he'll be anxious to hear what I have to say."

The guard looked angry then, and for a moment Rusl thought he'd pushed it too far, until he turned and gestured at a few of his men. Within moments he was forced next to Link, swords and crossbows at his back as they were marched round to the gate.

"You are an idiot," hissed Link as their jailors conversed with the guards on the wall. "Even worse than her. I should have left you both in Hyrule."

"You will tell them, Link." Rusl spat the words. "There are innocent people dying, and for what? Your bloody inheritance."

The gates opened, revealing the dismal town beyond. Link leaned in close. His eyes were the colour of storm clouds.

"I don't know where the vault is, you damned fool. You've doomed us all."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading guys, and don't forget to comment!**


	20. Chapter 20

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **20**

* * *

Malon walked out of the tavern with the woman Rutela at her back.

"He will be in the market at this time of day, if you wish to get a look at him. He likes to parade himself and his personal guard when the town square is at its busiest, so people cannot forget that he is here." She laughed. It was a small, bitter sound. "At night he retires to the tower, for his _entertainment_."

"I would like to see him," said Malon, as casually as she could. "And I have a few supplies to pick up." The evening was drawing in now, the grey clouds above soaking up the dark like a sponge in a pool of ink. The sky that she could see was violet.

"Then I shall walk with you there. Come on."

The tall priestess took her arm, and they walked up the street at a steady pace.

"Do not make eye contact, if you can help it," said Rutela of the guards. "Kakariko has been like a slow-cooked pot for weeks now, and some of them are just looking for ways to draw the steam off. And believe me, you do not want to be on the receiving end of that."

"Why are you helping me?" said Malon. The Regnisse's grip was quite firm.

"I had a vision,' said Rutela in a matter-of-fact tone. "I dreamed of Din, the goddess of scrying and form. She showed me the words in a surge of boiling lava, and I knew that I would meet a woman with red hair and a trio of sea monsters on her arm, and she would be the saviour of a town caught in the vice grip of—"

"Oh, piss off."

"Not going to work on you?" Rutela caught her eye and gave her a very ungodly smirk. "It normally goes down so well with the young men I meet. Never mind. I just happen to think you look like a woman who has seen plenty of trouble in the past, and might be up to handling some more. The people here, my child, they have had all the courage shaken from them, and now they cringe their way around their own homes for fear of being fed to the bears. For fear of Ganondorf."

They had reached the marketplace. It was still lively enough, with wagons and stalls crowded with people doing their last bit of shopping before heading back for the evening. There was a noticeable lack of produce; half the groceries on display looked rather elderly, and there was a great deal of questionable meat for sale. People were still buying it though. They reached the centre of the square, where a tall, graceful statue stood on a raised stone platform. It depicted a young woman with a longbow at her side, and she was staring off to the tower beyond. Three men sprawled around its base, watching the market.

"The one in the middle. That's Ganondorf," said Rutela, although she needn't have bothered. It was clear who he was.

The man screamed violence. Like the tower, the eyes were drawn to him again and again, as they are drawn to a house fire roaring out of control, or the red tendrils of infection from a diseased wound. He was a tall, powerfully built man with red hair oiled back from his forehead, and his jaw was square and dark with stubble. Malon supposed he was handsome, if you could look past the malevolent gleam in his eyes. And the scars. The scars were something else.

"What happened to him?" she asked Rutela without turning round.

"No one seems very clear on that point," said the fire-priestess. "The prevailing rumour is that he did that to himself, or paid someone very skilled with a knife to do it. You see the significance of the red faces on the shields now?"

The broad planes of Ganondorf's otherwise unmarked face were scored with red, squarish patches, where thick sections of skin had apparently been removed and then the flesh underneath allowed to scar. There was a piece missing from both cheeks, running from just below each eye down to the line of his jaw, a smaller section on his chin, and a horizontal rectangle of scarring on the right side of his forehead. It gave his face an odd, patchwork appearance, as though someone were sewing him together from pieces of old skin and they hadn't quite finished yet. The sections of raw flesh didn't appear to cause him any discomfort. As Malon watched he turned to trade a joke with the men sharing the space on the platform, and he laughed and grinned just as though he wasn't missing pieces of his face. He wore black boiled leather armour, turning grey at the elbows and knees from use, and there was a sword at his hip, although that was nothing special; it was the sword of a soldier, sharp and well maintained. In one hand he held a battered half-helm.

"And what about those two?" said Malon, indicating the men either side of Ganondorf. They looked a lot younger than their employer, no older than sixteen or seventeen. One of them was leaning on the statue in an overtly relaxed posture. "What are they supposed to be?"

For a moment, Rutela didn't answer, and when Malon turned to look at her the older woman pursed her lips, as though she didn't like to speak the words.

"What is it?"

"Ungodly things, is what they are," she said shortly. "Abominations. The Children of the Fog, he calls them."

The two young men were certainly nearly as strange as their lord. Clearly brothers or, more accurately, twins, both were tall, as lean as alley cats, and both had long purple hair the colour of dusk. Their armour was light, made from pieces of fine red leather, save for a single gauntlet each, which appeared to be made of a dull black metal. _How sweet_ , thought Malon, _brothers with matching gloves._ They were so nearly identical that the only way Malon could tell them apart was by the weapons they carried; one had a pair of straight-bladed swords, and the other had a curled whip hanging from his waist.

"Why does he call them that?" asked Malon. All three men looked like trouble.

"They do magics," said Rutela in a tone of voice that suggested said magics were low and filthy things. "And they smile while they kill, like cats."

"Hey," said Malon, absently. "Cats aren't cruel, it's just their nature."

"Cruelty is their nature," said the Regnisse. Lowering her voice, she took hold of Malon's arm again. "Do not stare too long. Come, you said there were supplies you needed."

Malon made to go with the fire-priestess, but a commotion at the edge of the market caught her eye. A number of the black-clad guards were pushing their way through the evening's crowd, escorting a very familiar pair of figures at their centre.

"Oh, for the love of all the gods!" cried Malon.

The guards marched Rusl and Link and a third man Malon didn't recognise up to the statue, while Ganondorf looked on in lively interest. Around them the people of Kakariko murmured uneasily. Malon caught the eye of a young man standing near a fruit and vegetable stall, and he raised his eyebrows at her, as if waiting for her to act. He had untidy brown hair and a finely featured face she was sure she should remember, but she didn't recognise him. She frowned at him, and shook off Rutela's hand.

"What are you doing?" hissed the priestess.

"I have to know what's going on there," said Malon, and she slipped to the front of the gathering crowd.

* * *

Link stared at the man who had ruined his life, and found he didn't know what to say.

They had spoiled everything. When he made his attack on Ganondorf he intended it to be brisk and devastating. He had pictured himself arriving, perhaps at his very own castle, to find Ganondorf relaxed and undefended, secure in the knowledge that he had taken Faron, and then Link would tear him apart with the elemental forces he now had at his command. Everything he'd inflicted on his family, Ganondorf would suffer tenfold. Instead of that, he had been forced into a confrontation with the man at sword point, in rags, and with little understanding of how the elemental forces he'd taken from the mages worked, let alone how he could best use them against this man. The simmering power he'd felt inside the Keep was a quiet whisper in his head, and he did not know how to rouse it to a shout. If only Rusl had kept his mouth shut.

But Ganondorf appeared to have no interest in them. Instead he gestured at Jakamar, a broad grin on his face.

"My friend! You have had enough of skulking around outside the walls of our town, then? I am so pleased you have decided to join us after all." He had a warm, affable voice, the sort of voice that might ask if you needed help carrying that pile of firewood.

Jakamar frowned deeply, his long face furrowed with anger.

"I'll not converse with monsters, I won't," he said. "You can ask me whatever you want and I won't take no notice. I have nothing to say to the likes of you."

Ganondorf shook his head gently, a faint smile on his face.

"What did you hope to achieve, my good man?"

"Just mercy," said Jakamar. "Something a monster like you wouldn't know nothing of."

"Those people, out in the cages, are blessed." Ganondorf raised his voice so that everyone gathered in the marketplace could hear. "They are offerings to Demise." He paused and lifted his half-helm to his face. He kissed the battered metal fondly. "They needn't have been, but they would not give up what they knew and Demise is always hungry. His belly rumbles and we all must heed it." He touched his fingers to his scarred face.

"Ya demon-worshippin' scum," said Jakamar. Rusl muttered a few words at him, trying to get the tall man to calm down, but he either didn't hear or didn't care. "The lowest, a monster, that's what you are and no mistake," Jakamar continued. "Can't be telling me any different or no one else here, no—"

Ganondorf waved a hand at one of his lieutenants.

"Vaati, Demise hungers. Make an offering of this idiot."

Rusl stepped forward.

"No, wait—"

Moving with unsettling speed and grace, the slim purple haired man to the right of Ganondorf grabbed his whip, shook it out, and flicked it. There was a crack, painfully sharp in the evening air, and suddenly Jakamar was on his knees, a length of barbed leather wrapped round his throat. His fingers scrabbled desperately at the coils, trying to find purchase. The man called Vaati laughed and tugged sharply on his end of the whip. Jakamar fell to the ground, making strangled choking noises. Blood ran from his torn throat as his face began to turn purple.

"Stop it!" cried Rusl. The big knight was straining at his captors, a look of utter horror on his face.

"Demise requires an offering," said Ganondorf in a mild tone of voice. "But you are right, the night draws in and I have other business. Vaati? Stop it."

The purple haired man pouted.

"But I have only just—"

"Vaati."

The purple haired man sighed, and placing one foot on Jakamar's shoulder, heaved on the whip so that it tightened violently on the tall man's neck. There was a moment of pressure, then his throat seemed to burst apart in a torrent of blood.

Link winced, stepping away as Jakamar slumped onto the dirt. The man called Vaati took a moment to retrieve the whip, before tying it back onto his belt, still dripping blood. The people at the marketplace had fallen utterly silent, and Link thought it likely they had seen many such 'offerings'.

"What else have you brought me then, Yuga?' asked Ganondorf. His eyes crawled over Rusl, disregarding Link entirely. "These two do not look like the peasants of Kakariko that I have come to know and love."

The strange identical-looking men standing next to him laughed softly.

"The big one reckons he knows where the vault is, m'lord," said the burly guard, whose name was Yuga. "Caught 'em both outside the gate, antagonising the bears." Ganondorf raised his eyebrows. The raw red flesh on his forehead stretched and wrinkled.

"We can't have that. The bears here are not to be trifled with, isn't that right, Zant?' The slim purple haired man to his right tipped his head, the briefest impression of a nod. "Zant and Vaati are rather fond of the bears in this forest. In Gerudo we have bears, but they are smaller, rather more docile. They only present a danger to the fish in our half-dry rivers. So what is this about the vault?" Ganondorf didn't pause to let him answer but moved on to another line of questioning. "You're a knight, aren't you? I recognise the badge. One of those mad mountain cults."

Casting his voice as low as he could, Link leaned close to Rusl.

"You name me now and you shall wish I'd left you to die at the Keep."

Rusl didn't even look at him.

"My lord, I do not know the location of the vault, but I know who does. I only ask that you release the man and woman held in the cages outside the town walls."

The good humour on Ganondorf's face seemed to disappear. He took the black helm in both his hands and turned it over in his fingers.

"Demands? When held at sword point? I thought the sky knights were known for their wisdom."

Rusl took a step forward.

"The man standing next to me is Lord Link Frith, the last living heir of Faron."

There was a flurry of noise from the slowly gathering crowd; gasps, murmurs and questions. Link thought he heard swearing from someone who sounded suspiciously like Malon, although he could not see her.

"Can it be?" Ganondorf moved slowly from the statue, coming towards them both. Now his eyes were trained on Link, and the man moved like a cat hunting something small and warm-blooded. "The Friths all died, running from my men like cowards. I cannot tell you the number of arrows we pulled from their backs …"

"YOU LIE!" All of a sudden the hot fury thundered back into life, and the guards were straining to hold Link back. "You murdered my father and my brothers. You tortured them to death!"

Ganondorf paused, and a slow grin slid across his face like blood seeping into a bandage.

"It is you," he said, and suddenly all the warm, friendly tones were back, just as though he were greeting an old friend. "Nabooru said you nearly died in the dungeons but some peasants with delusions of bravery smuggled you out. She assured me that you would have died from exposure in the heavy snows, but here you are – yes, old Lord Frith lives again. You know, I was most displeased that I didn't get to Faron Keep in time to meet you. How utterly perfect this is."

"I will kill you," said Link, no longer shouting. The anger had closed his throat and left him unable to raise his voice. The hot feeling of it prickled all over his skin. "That is a promise. I will kill you and tear you to pieces and when I am done I will leave your remains in the forest for the rats to eat."

"Zant, Vaati, take our young lord here to the Queen's Tower. I'm sure Dodongo is anxious for a reunion." He turned back and winked at Link. "He has so many new tricks to show you. Guards, kill the big one and don't be making off with his sword. I like the look of it."

Several things happened in the space of a few seconds. The prickling heat swarming over Link's skin increased in intensity and seemed to combine with the cold churning in his stomach. All at once, an eldritch-green fire flickered into life along his hands and arms. There was a pause, a moment of kindling, and then he was consumed with the emerald fire. The guards holding his arms leapt back, shouting, and there were answering shouts in the crowd.

"Don't let him go!" bellowed Ganondorf. "It's just some conjuror's illusion," but it wasn't, Link realised with a sudden fierce joy. The fire leapt from his body and streamed in several directions at once, and what it touched exploded with hot, yellow flame. The guards who had been closest to him were now screaming, their faces melting and their clothes on fire.

Rusl stumbled away from him, too surprised to reach for his own sword, while the guards who weren't on fire came to carry out Ganondorf's wishes. There was a flash of silver amongst the crowd and Malon flew out from the front row, her first dagger ripping through one man's throat as though it were a bushel of hay at harvest time, and her second clashing with a short sword, driving the blow away from the big knight.

"I will kill you!" Link shouted again. The guards were falling away, some of them desperately trying to beat the flames out with their hands. Ganondorf had retreated to the statue again and all that stood between Link and his revenge were the two men with long hair and identical faces. He would burn them too. _Burn everything and everyone.  
_

* * *

 **A/N: OMG the drama is _real._ Gonna be a real bumpy ride from here on out. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, please review!**


	21. Chapter 21

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **21**

* * *

The people were screaming.

Rusl moved as though he were in a dream. His body fell into the old patterns, the routines he'd spent years learning; they were a part of him now, so entrenched he barely had to think. He parried a blow there, took out a man's ankle in one low stroke, felt the bones there shatter, and caught another guard under the chin with the back swing. There was blood, and screaming, and the scent of scorched flesh. It was here, and it was real.

 _She is not here_ , he told himself firmly, but a cold hand seized his heart and panic started to build. _She is not here._

The swarming guards were falling back now, parting to let some newcomers through. The two men from the dais came forward, drawing their weapons. Rusl pushed his rising fear aside and tried to concentrate on these two, because these two were clearly very different from the poorly trained men that had fallen to his sword so easily. One had drawn a pair of exotic-looking swords – long straight blades with edges that looked sharp enough to slice bone – and the other carried the bullwhip that killed Jakamar, still red with his blood.

"Pair of posers," muttered Malon next to him.

As he watched, the dull grey metal of their gauntlets began to glow with a soft, orange light, tracing shapes that had previously been invisible. Rusl blinked a few times, sure it must be a trick of the light, but the glow only intensified. It grew so bright that they were difficult to look at, and then through squinting eyes Rusl saw the twins double, so that there were four purple haired men approaching. He shook his head, absolutely convinced for a bare second that his vision had failed him, but when he looked again they were still there; four men where there had been two, a pair with swords, and a pair with whips.

"What is this now?"

Rusl glanced at Malon, whose face was rigid with shock, and then the men were on them.

Malon had perhaps a handful of seconds to process what had happened before she found herself dodging a shining blade as it whistled past her ear. She moved, smooth as silk, light as foam, and brought Frostling up and round to bury it in the purple haired man's head, but her dagger passed straight through him and out the other side just as though he were made of mist. He grinned at her, his teeth very neat and white next to his pink lips.

"I am Zant, little girl. I shall enjoy playing with you."

Malon glanced over to Rusl to see his own sword passing through another of the blond men. The Children of the Fog, Rutela had called them.

"They're not really there!" she called to Rusl and Link. "They're just made of vapour. Ignore them and go for the big man!"

The words were barely out of her mouth before the purple haired man called Vaati flicked the bullwhip at Link, the end of the lash catching the young lord across the top of his forehead. In an instant the green flames that surrounded him winked out of existence and he was thrown to the floor, a bloody gash staining his blond hair crimson.

"Forget I said that!"

She jumped back to avoid another strike from Zant's blades only for the end of the whip to grab her arm in a viper's embrace. Even through her leather armour she could feel the burning points of metal digging into her skin. Ashes dropped from her fingers and she could do nothing but watch with horror as the dagger skittered across the cobbles away from her. There was a sharp tug and she was off her feet and on her knees, being dragged towards the grinning form of Vaati. Rusl came at him, the long sword flying in a deadly silver arc, but Zant moved in front and met the giant blade with two of his own. Another tug, and Malon could see blood seeping up through the torn leather.

"Some more of that green fire wouldn't go amiss, princeling!" Malon pressed the edge of her remaining dagger against the whip and was dismayed to find it barely made a mark on it.

"Demise enjoys your suffering!" called Ganondorf from his space between the stalls. He was wearing his black helm now and that was glowing too, with the same strange markings as those adorning the gauntlets of Vaati and Zant, but there was still only one of him. _What does it do?_ Malon sensed this was an important question if they wished to survive the next few moments. Ganondorf hadn't even drawn a weapon.

She turned back to see Link picking himself up from the floor, his face a sheet of blood, and Rusl working hard to keep back the two identical men, the muscles in his neck and shoulders bunched like grapefruits. As she watched, his sword passed harmlessly through the body of one of the Fog Chidren, only to meet the solidity of the sword with a discordant crash.

"Bring them in, that's it," Ganondorf was bellowing now. Distantly Malon could hear shouts from the crowd, but whether it was encouragement or mockery she couldn't tell. "Keep the girl alive too and we'll have some entertainment tonight." Ignoring the agony in her arm, Malon pulled back on the whip and forced herself to her feet. She raised her dagger, preparing an over-arm throw she hoped would find Ganondorf in his thick chest and split his rotten heart, when suddenly the young man from the crowd with the untidy hair was in front of her. He winked.

"What are you …?"

He produced a strange knife from an inner pocket; it was clear and sparkled as if made of crystal. The young man pressed it against the whip and it snapped almost instantly. Malon staggered back and he caught hold of her hand.

"We must run now," he said. He had an accent she couldn't place. "If you and your friends wish to live, keep with me."

"Sounds good," said Malon.

She snatched Ashes up from the cobblestones and shouted at her companions; Link and Rusl followed readily enough, but so did the two identical men, whooping and howling as they came. The crowd parted for them and the young man led them deep into it, amongst the stalls and boxes, turning wildly here and there. All the time he kept Malon's hand in a vice-like grip, which normally would have annoyed her, but she was afraid that if she pulled free she would lose him instantly in the swarms of townspeople. There was a clatter of wood against wood and she realised the guards on the walls were loosing their longbows, and only the shelter of the stalls protected them.

"Where are we going?"

"Keep close, little cat! Run where I run!"

They passed a cart filled with a towering heap full of mouldering pumpkins. There was a shout, and suddenly the pumpkins were tumbling from the cart onto the ground, directly into the path of the pursuing guards. Malon glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Rutela back there behind the cart, her long thin face pinched in triumph, and the young man tugged her another way, moving towards the back of the market. The rolling root vegetables gained them a few seconds, enough to get out of sight of the Children of the Fog.

"Who are you?" said Malon, between gasps.

"My name is Groose." He did not turn to look back at her, instead dragging her towards a ramshackle stone building across from the main bustle of the market. A pile of old leaves had collected in the doorway and the small windows were broken. "Are your friends still with us?"

"We are," said Link. His hair was stuck to his forehead with blood. Rusl looked sickly and distracted. "What is going on?"

He gave a brief bow, and swung open the door.

"No time to talk. Inside now."

"How do we know this isn't a trap?" asked Link, but he followed them in just the same. Inside they could just make out an altar surrounded by broken wooden benches, and there was a slight smell of incense, like an exotic ghost.

"A disused temple?" said Malon.

"No time, no time."

From outside came the sound of men shouting, obviously trying to decide in which direction they had run. Malon thought they'd figure it out in less than a handful of heartbeats, and she could see no doorways out of the temple.

"Listen, friend, if you've led us into a dead-end …" She patted the dagger on her belt threateningly, but Groose was ignoring her. He walked up the centre aisle with his eyes on the floor, and then dropped to his knees in front of the stone altar. There was a mouldy rug on the floor which he picked up gingerly and moved to one side. Beneath it were flat grey flagstones. As she watched, he took a slim object from an inner pocket and pushed it against a small gap in the floor. There was an audible click and the flagstones swung away into the darkness below.

"What was that?" said Malon. Groose held up the object for her. It was a narrow rectangle about as long as the palm of his hand, apparently made of pink glass. Now the voices outside were very loud.

"A secret key for a secret door," he said, smiling slightly. "Now, down here, if you please, or we'll all be flayed alive. If we're lucky."

The three of them followed him down into the dark. There was a short drop and a strong smell of earth and leaf mould. Groose reached up behind them and did something with the glass key that made the flagstones swing back into place, and they were standing together in the pitch-black.

"So, I don't suppose anyone thought to bring a torch with them?" asked Rusl.

"Funny you should say that …" There was a flicker in the dark, and Groose's face was lit with a warm, sunny glow. He held a glass globe in his hand, and inside it was a hot ball of yellow light.

"Oh, what is this now?" said Malon, starting to get a little annoyed. This Groose character was a bit too confident for her liking; she liked to be the confident one.

"It is a remembrance of light, that is all." Groose looked up at them all. The light made him look older. "You have questions."

"I certainly do," snapped Link. "Where do you think you've taken us? And what do you know about Ganondorf?"

"And who is this Demise bastard?" added Malon.

"We will walk and talk," said Groose, and with that he set off ahead, his ball of light revealing mould-encrusted stone walls to either side. They were in a tunnel. As he walked he spoke softly. "You are the young Lord Frith, returned to us, it seems, from a shallow grave. My mistress saw your arrival here in one of her glasses, and knowing you would meet with difficulties sent me to retrieve you."

"How could she possibly know that?" said Link. "We arrived here entirely at random. No one could have known we were coming."

"My mistress makes the finest of glasses," said Groose smoothly, just as though Link hadn't spoken. "And like the glass, all will become clear. Do you see?" He turned and winked at Malon. "It is a joke. Now, this tunnel will take us out under the walls of Kakariko and some way into the forest, and from there I shall take you to see my mistress."

"And who is she?" asked Rusl.

"An old friend of the family. One who knows how to keep secrets."

* * *

 **A/N: Some of the characters from Zelda are a little weirdly described in this, I know. Like Groose should have red hair but in this he had brown hair... hate me all you want but this is ... we authors can do whatever we want with the characters. lol. Hope you enjoyed this nonetheless. Please review!**


	22. Chapter 22

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **22**

* * *

After a long walk in the dim light of his globe, Groose led them to a set of rough steps cut directly into the earth, and they emerged blinking into the middle of the forest. Amazingly, there was still some light in the sky. _Time is strange when you are fighting or fleeing_ , thought Rusl. _You think you have struggled through hours, when it has been mere minutes._

"How far are we from Kakariko?" asked Link.

"Far enough."

"And if Ganondorf's men pursue us outside of the town?"

"The tunnel under the old temple is one of the many secrets my mistress keeps, and they will not find it. Now, we must walk north, and swiftly. The night is coming on and I do not wish to meet anything hungrier than me under these trees. The Secret Keeper is waiting."

"The Secret Keeper?" Malon smirked.

"As I said, all will become clear."

Groose had a delicate face, with tanned skin and dark brown hair that fell in a centre parting, framing his jaw. The faintest dusting of stubble across his chin made him appear younger rather than older. Looking at him somehow made Rusl think of Pipit, and that caused a brief constriction of grief in his chest. Groose caught his eye and gave him a look, as though he knew what he was thinking. Rusl turned away.

"We'd best get going, in that case."

* * *

The Secret Keeper's home was not especially secret, it seemed to Malon. They were not walking for long before they came to a place where the ground beneath them grew rockier and steeper, following a path that only Groose could see. The trees became scarcer, until they emerged on an outcrop of earth and rock, thrusting out over an unbroken sea of dark trees. On the cliff's edge sat one of the oddest houses she'd ever seen, undoubtedly visible from the sweep of Faron below, if you happened to be above the treeline.

The normal concept of a house – squarish, orderly, symmetrical – had apparently been lost on the architect. It was more a meandering collection of rooms, piled next to and on top of each other with little thought as to how you might get from one to the other, and every single one had a window. Small ones, round ones, large ones, square ones; the peculiar house glittered with them in the last of the evening's light. It was built largely from wood, and ivy had grown over portions of the walls, giving the place a queer, organic look. At the very front of this confusion was a large drum-shaped bunker, built from old grey stone. This was the only part of the structure that had holes rather than glass windows, and it was from those that they could see a fierce light glowing. Every now and then a thick cloud of black smoke would emerge, and they could clearly hear a female voice muttering and cursing.

"I like it," Malon said as they stood outside. "Understated. Subtle."

"My mistress has eccentric tastes," said Groose evenly. "Her work has made her so. She sees things differently, you could say."

"So much glass," said Rusl, impressed. "That must be expensive."

Groose shrugged.

"Perks of the profession."

He led them over to the stone room, and waved a hand at them to keep back. He leaned in the doorway and spoke softly. An elderly female voice answered. They couldn't make out the words, but the voice was rough and full of impatience. Groose reappeared, that half-smile back on his lips. Malon thought his gaze lingered on Rusl, but then there was a lot of Rusl to see. "You are to wait inside. My mistress is just finishing up some work."

"Where is she? It is quite urgent that I talk to her." Link glanced at the door to the stone room. Patterns of red and yellow light spilled out onto the ground.

"She will be with us shortly. Believe me, it is not worth disturbing her while she is working. I shall never hear the last of it."

Groose led them to the nearest door in the wooden portion of the house. Inside they found themselves in a large but crowded workroom. There were benches everywhere, covered with all sorts of odds and ends, the purpose of which Malon could only guess at. There were glass jars filled with all manner of substances, delicate vials containing brightly coloured liquids, and a huge pestle and mortar covered in something black and crusted.

"Come in." Groose began moving some of the debris from one of the lower benches with a deftness that suggested he did this quite often. "Have a seat. There are more comfortable rooms, yes, but she'll be finished soon and she's always happier in here than anywhere else."

Malon perched on the bench, trying to take it all in. Rusl looked uncomfortable, no doubt concerned that his bulk or his sword might break something. Link stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

Groose cleared his throat.

"Can I get you a drink?"

Malon looked around at the bottles and jars full of viscous liquid.

"Is that safe?"

Groose laughed, and his cheeks turned a little pink. _He is uncommonly pretty when he blushes_ , thought Malon. She glanced up at Rusl to see if he'd noticed, but the big knight was backing slowly away from the table, not paying attention.

"I have some blackberry wine here somewhere. Don't worry, it is entirely not poisonous. Impa is very partial to it." He opened a small cupboard and began pushing bottles aside.

"Imap?"

"The Secret Keeper. That is her name."

Groose fetched four glasses and a tall bottle filled with a dark purple liquid over to the bench, when the door was flung open and the Secret Keeper came in.

"Is that the good wine, Groose? Only the best for our Lord of Faron."

She was a well-built woman in her late fifties, with lilac hair just turning to grey in little flurries at her temples, and a tanned face with deep lines at the corners of the mouth and eyes which spoke of a lifetime of hard work. She wore a grey shirt under a thick leather apron streaked with soot.

Groose poured a glass of the wine and passed it to his mistress, who took a sip, and shrugged.

"It'll do, I suppose. Now, what do you want?"

Link stood up straight, bristling at the direct question.

"Your … assistant here escorted us from Kakariko. He seems to know who we are. He even claimed that you knew in advance that we were coming."

2And who are you, exactly?"

Link frowned, obviously confused.

"I am Lord Link Frith, of course."

Malon took a glass from Groose and drank down the blackberry wine in one gulp. It was good stuff, ripe with the taste of long summer days and meadow grass.

"And how do I know you are Link Frith, then?" said Impa. "From what the people are saying, the Frith family were butchered and buried under the black soil, right down to poor little Colin."

Link's face contracted with impatience."

"This person said you knew who I was. That you sent him to us! Can you not see?"

"Aye, I see well enough," Impa waved a hand at Link dismissively. "Don't get yourself all worked up. You have your father's look, right down to that piggish impatient expression he used to get when I was late with a project."

"You knew my father?"

"Your mother's nose, though," continued Impa. "Aye, I'd know who you are even if I hadn't seen you in the glass. What happened to you, boy?"

Link sipped at his wine, as if to sweeten the taste of his words.

"The castle was taken by Gerudo thugs, as you must know, and once they'd tortured and murdered my family they got down to the business of torturing me." He paused, and put down the glass. His fingers were trembling ever so slightly. "Luckily a group of loyal fighters smuggled me out of the dungeon, although almost all of them died in the attempt. I made my way to Hyrule, as best I could …" His words trailed off. "What happened then does not matter. What is important is that I have returned, and I have debts to repay." He glared up at Impa. "Is that enough for you?"

Impa sniffed, and emptied her glass.

"A bad business, that's for certain. If I'd seen it in the glass … but there's no point in dwelling on that now. And who are these two? Not Faron men, if I'm any judge."

"I am Rusl Carverson, a knight of Skyloft, and this is my colleague, Malon of Lon-haven." Rusl bowed slightly, narrowly avoiding knocking a row of glasses off the bench with his sword. Malon suppressed a smile. "We are currently employed by Lord Frith."

"Hmph. Interesting company you're keeping," Impa said to Link. "I've seen more trustworthy-looking mercenaries ransacking bodies on a battlefield."

"Hey," said Malon. She liked this woman. "I am deeply insulted."

Impa stood up abruptly.

"It's the vault, isn't it? The greedy, murderous bastards. I can give you the location of the vault. It is yours by right, after all."

"You know where it is?" said Rusl and Link together. There was a pause, and they glared at each other. Rusl rounded on Impa.

"There are people dying in Kakariko, tortured or torn apart by bears, and you sit out here and let it happen? If you know where it is and you know what they want …" There was a tinkling of glass as Rusl's shoulder brushed a shelf loaded with delicate instruments.

Impa held up hands thick with calluses.

"It's not as simple as that. Put your knightly indignation away, you fool. I hold the information, but only a person of the Frith blood can access it. Besides which, I made certain promises …"

"I don't understand," said Link. Some of the anger had left his face, to be replaced with confusion. "The secret was kept strictly between my father and my oldest brother. I was only to be told when I, when … No one outside the family was to know. It was our deepest secret."

Impa turned to Groose, her eyebrows raised.

"You told them who I was, yes? Particularly the part involving secrets and keeping them?"

Groose dipped his head once, smiling faintly.

"Right, good, can't expect everyone to be swift on the uptake I suppose." She gestured at a door on the far side of the room. "Follow me, Lord Frith and associated untrustworthies. I think this will be easier if I show you."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading guys. Please tell me if you like it because I am starting to loose the will to upload. I will still upload for a while though but the comments would be greatly appreciated!**


	23. Chapter 23

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **23**

* * *

Impa led them from the workshop. They walked down a short corridor where the ceiling was so low Rusl had to bow his head, and they entered another room crowded with books and instruments. A big window to their left, filled with warped, greenish glass, looked out onto the rocky grounds outside. Malon looked from it back to Impa and was surprised to see that in this light her hair looked darker, the white hairs at her temples invisible. She even appeared to have fewer wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

They passed quickly through a further two rooms, these ones much more like those of a normal house. Malon saw sofas and chairs, a sink covered in cups and old saucepans, the sort of general chaos found in a home occupied by two busy people. Finally, they came to a room with an ornately carved wooden door. Groose threw it open, and Malon felt her breath catch in her throat. It was a room filled with light.

Windows stretched from one side to the other, looking out over the cliff's edge to the dark forest below. The last ruddy light of sunset was smeared across the clouds in the distance, filling the room with a deep orange glow. And the items in the room caught that light and twisted it into strange shapes.

"What are they all?"

Beneath the window was a long table, and upon it were hundreds of delicate glass objects, every one different, and every one beautiful. There were globes of all sizes and every colour of the rainbow, strange cubes that sent geometric reflections streaming out in front of them, filigrees of glass clumped together in spirals like exotic, fragile plants, as well as figures of men, women and animals, all created from shining crystal.

"They are the secret holders," said a woman who sounded like Impa, but when Malon turned towards the voice there was a much younger woman standing there. She cast about in confusion.

"Where did the Secret Keeper go?" asked Rusl.

"I am right here." The young woman had light purple hair, clear unlined skin and looked to be no older than thirty. "Here." She picked up one of the glass globes from the table and passed it to Malon almost carelessly. "Look into that, girl, and tell me what you see."

Frowning, Malon did as she was bid. The globe was smaller than many on the table, only slightly bigger than a pomegranate, and there was an orange cast to the glass. Peering at it closely, Malon turned it around in her hands to catch the light. She could see her own face reflected in it, the confines of the room and … something else.

"I see a landscape," she said, a touch reluctantly. "There's a forest in the distance, and rocky ground. There's a pile of stones, like a temple or a—"

"A cairn," finished the woman. "What you are seeing is what was here before I built this house. The glass holds the secret of this land's past."

"Let me see," demanded Link. Malon passed him the globe, still not quite able to believe it.

"I make magical glass," continued Impa. "I can make it so that through the glass you can see the past, or things that you would keep secret from others. I can even make glass through which it is possible to see the future, although that is incredibly bloody fiddly and you're never really sure which bit of the future you're looking at, so it's not as useful as you might imagine. It's all about bending light, you see. Bending it to show you what you want."

"Right," said Malon. "But that still doesn't explain why you've dropped a few decades on our short walk through your house."

"The windows," said Groose. He walked up to the panes and pressed his fingers against the glass. There was more than a hint of pride in his voice. "My mistress made these windows so as to cast a certain light. In this light, she is a young woman at the beginning of her career."

"And in the stone room, where there are no windows, you are your real age," said Malon, remembering the elderly voice they'd heard while outside. "Clever."

"Of course. I need all my wisdom and skill whilst I work the glass. These days young Groose helps me with the heavier stuff, but inside these rooms I can be whatever age I wish."

"Extraordinary," said Rusl. He was keeping back by the door, far from the delicate objects. "Truly, a wonder."

"Indeed," said Link. "I assume, then, that my father entrusted the secret of the vault within one of your objects?" His voice was tight, and Malon guessed he wasn't especially pleased by this turn of events.

Impa nodded to Groose. The apprentice pulled a pair of brown velvet gloves from a pocket and slipped them on. Reaching to the back of the table he plucked an odd, spiky confection of glass and passed it to Link. At first Malon thought it was in the shape of some kind of elaborate shell, but when he held it up to the light she saw that it was actually a number of clear glass leaves, splayed out in a fan. There was a hint of green to the glass that made her think of the clear water of the Graces' pools, or the Sea-Glass Road itself.

"Can I see?" she asked, but Impa shook her head.

"Fierce magic I made for this one. Only those of the Frith blood can hold it with bare hands. If young Link Frith here wasn't who he claimed to be, he'd be writhing on the floor by now, blood foaming on his lips."

Link shot her a dangerous look.

"Good thing that I am, then. How does this work? I can't see anything."

"Look deeper into the glass," urged Groose. "Relax your eyes and let it come to you."

Frowning slightly, Link held the spread of glass leaves up in front of him. The last of the day's light filled it, and soft green reflections played across his face like marsh ghosts. He narrowed his eyes, his lips pursed.

"I still can't – wait, there is something."

"What do you see?" asked Rusl.

"I see this place, again. I can see the edge of the cliff, but now there is a bridge leading from it. There is no such thing."

"That you can see," agreed Impa. "What else is there?"

"If I follow the bridge, it stretches far across the forest. Here and there it weaves in and out of the treetops, and finally it comes to another cliff, but instead of reaching up to the edge it leads straight into the rock, where there is a dark cave."

"And there you have your vault," said Impa. "It's a long, cold walk, so I suggest you get yourselves moving."

"But the bridge – it was here in my father's time, I assume, but it must have long since fallen into disrepair and collapsed into the forest below. We saw no bridge on our approach."

"You're a fussy one, aren't you?" Impa's face creased up with distaste, and for a moment it was possible to see the older woman who had originally greeted them. "Come outside," she said, waving them all back towards the door. "I'll show you your damn bridge."

Outside the sun had sunk below the horizon, and the sky was shading towards the deep indigo of dusk. Impa had grown progressively older again as they walked through the house and now, outside the influence of her magical windows, she was a stooped old lady with white hair down to her waist. Her eyes were as bright and lively as ever, though. "There, out there, look." She took them to the cliff's edge and pointed to a distant lump of land that burst forth from the black trees like a mottled whale breaching the surface of the sea. "That's where you're heading, all the way across there. Do you see it?"

"I see it, Secret Keeper, but what I do not see is the bridge," said Link.

"Look through the glass again, impatient Lord Frith," said Imp. "And tell me what you see."

Link held it up to his eyes, and Malon saw them widen in surprise. He took the glass away, looked at the cliff's edge, then back again. He repeated this process twice before he spoke.

"I see a secret way," he said. "There is a bridge there, but I can only see it when I look through the glass."

"Let me look," said Malon.

"It will do you no good," said Impa. "Only those of Frith blood can hold the glass, and they alone can see the secret. You are not of the blood, I assume? And you have not borne children of the Frith line?" She smirked slightly as she spoke.

Malon snorted.

"Certainly not."

Link still held the glass, peering out across the cliff. When eventually he lowered it, his face was set into grim lines.

"It looks very lonely, and very dark," he said, almost as if he'd forgotten they were there. He glanced at them. "But no time like the present." And he started to march towards the edge of the cliff.

"Not so fast, princeling," called Malon.

Link turned back, impatience in every line of his body.

"What is it?"

"Look out there. It's dark now. The people at Kakariko …" Malon pursed her lips. Link and Rusl had described the remains left outside the town walls on their walk to the Secret Keeper's house. "Those people are long dead."

Rusl rounded on her angrily.

"We have to go back for them, Malon! Once we know the exact location of the vault we can trade the information for their lives."

"We will do no such thing," started Link hotly. Malon held her hands up for peace. She tried to use the same tone of voice Rusl used on her when it was close to chucking out time and he wanted to go home.

"We can't help those people now, Rusl. If we're going back to Kakariko—" There was another noise from Link, but she waved him down. "If we're going back to help, and yes, I do think we should, Rusl, stop looking at me like that, if we're going back, then we have to go back fighting fit. We need to rest, eat some decent food, and sleep in some decent beds." She jabbed a finger at the cliff's edge. "And I'm not crossing any invisible bridges in the bloody dark. That's if the Secret Keeper wouldn't mind putting us up for the night?"

Impa shrugged.

"We've got plenty of rooms."

Link sighed heavily, and took a moment to glare at both her and Rusl. The big knight still looked reluctant, but in the end he shrugged. Lord Frith crossed his arms across his chest.

"An early start, then."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading, guys. Did you realize that the glass Link looked through was like the 'Lens of Truth' from Ocarina of Time? Please comment!**


	24. Chapter 24

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **24**

* * *

"He was a prickly man, your father. Difficult, even. I dare say the staff up at Faron Keep dragged his name through the mud more than once, when he was safely out of earshot."

Impa pulled a battered clay pipe from an inner pocket and began to fill it from a leather pouch on the table. She and Link were alone in a cosy living room filled with over-stuffed chairs and elderly bookcases. In here she looked to be in her mid-sixties, a woman just starting to slow down.

"Distant, but interested. That's how I would have described him."

"That does sound familiar," said Link dryly. Impa shrugged, and sucked on the pipe, releasing a soft cloud of smoke that smelled of cabbages.

"I knew your family well, boy. Did you know that?"

Link shook his head.

"I knew your grandfather, and his father before him. I counted your father as a friend, truth be told."

"Have you always kept the secret of the vault, then?"

"Aye. The location of the vault changes, every few generations or so. A new place, and a new glass to keep the secret in, just in case the worst should happen." She took another long drag on the pipe. "In your case, I suppose it did."

Link ignored this.

"You knew about the bridge, then? You must have, if my father came out here to visit the vault."

"Your father trusted me."

"More than his own son, it seems."

"Look." Impa jabbed the end of the pipe at Link. "Your father was a decent man. Do you truly think he kept this from you for cruelty's sake?" There were a few moments of silence between them. The fire in the grate spat and smoked, while all around the house creaked and sighed and settled its wooden bones for the night.

"Why?" asked Link eventually. He felt tired, possibly more tired than he'd ever felt in his life. "Why all this secrecy? Scores of other old families have similar hoards and they do not insist on such conspiracies."

"And you know what's in there, do you? Been in the vault, have you?" She smiled crookedly.

"You know I have not."

"Whatever it is, your ancestors thought it worth protecting."

"Do you know? Do you have any idea?"

Impa shook her head.

"The day your father came to show Niko, your brother, I think it was the happiest I'd ever seen him. He was excited to be sharing the family secret, and, well," she gestured at the room, taking in the enchanted windows, "it's not just any secret, after all."

Link swallowed hard.

"Not excited enough to share it with all his sons, apparently."

Impa waved a hand at his objection as though swatting away a small fly.

"Oh, you were young, and no doubt he felt he had all the time in the world. It was safer to keep the numbers that knew about it low."

"He was probably right to do so." There was a cold hand at Link's throat as he thought back to his last months inside Faron Keep. His father and brother had known, and kept the secret while under the ministrations of Dodongo. All day and all night he'd listened to them, the noises they made as they died. Would he have been able to keep the secret? Uphold the family honour? He wasn't certain. Not certain at all.

Some of what he felt must have shown on his face, as the Secret Keeper leaned forward with a stern look.

"There was nowt you could do, boy. You hear me?"

"I didn't tell them," said Link, his voice small even to his own ears. "I didn't tell them I didn't know because I thought they would just open my throat and have done with it."

Impa nodded.

"It was the right course of action."

"If I'd known the secret I could have saved them. Nothing is worth this, nothing is worth being the one left behind …" He bit down the rest of those words. "But instead they died, and for what?" Link thumped his fist against the arm of the chair. After a moment he closed his eyes, attempting to hold back the surge of anger. "What could possibly be so important?"

Impa leaned back in her chair, sighing as her old bones popped.

"That, I imagine, you will find out tomorrow."

* * *

It was getting late, and the apprentice showed no signs of retiring. Instead, he refilled their glasses with red wine, and pushed forward a plate of cheese and oatcakes.

Malon had gone to bed more than an hour ago, complaining of a stiffness in her shoulders and a need for a good twelve hours' sleep, while Link had retired after a long talk with the Secret Keeper. To Rusl's surprise, the old woman had not gone to bed at all, but had gone back out to the stone workroom, _to potter around_ , as she put it.

"She doesn't sleep much these days," explained Groose. They were in a comfortable room on one of the upper floors. Rusl suspected it was Groose's own study; there was an old but carefully polished desk, a merrily burning fireplace, and a few items of discarded clothing. Young men who were studying rarely remembered to tidy away inconsequential things like clothes, in Rusl's experience. He'd had similar habits, after all.

"My father was the same," admitted Rusl. "In his later years he would go to bed last and be up before all of us."

Groose smiled.

"She says she can feel the end coming, and she has so much work to do yet. No time for sleep. Was your father a Skyloft knight too?"

"No. He was a stonemason. Not everyone feels the sky calling."

"But you did?"

Rusl had to smile at the apprentice's enthusiasm. In the warm glow from the fire his eyes glittered, their gaze always resting on Rusl's face.

"When I was twelve years old, I had a dream from which I woke covered in sweat."

Groose raised his eyebrows. Rusl cleared his throat and continued.

"I dreamed I walked alone on a mountain path, snow under my bare feet. I came to a great wall of stone that blocked my way, but suddenly it cracked down the middle like an egg, and I could walk through into the space beyond." He paused. The wine was fine and smoky in the back of his throat. "In the dark, the sky spoke to me. When I told my mother about the dream, she took me to the Order and I was inducted before my thirteenth birthday."

"A tender age."

Rusl shrugged. "It was a good life for a boy from a poor family. The Order fed me, clothed me and taught me my letters, until I was old enough to swear my sword in front of the god-peak. My mother was very happy." For a moment he remembered the look on her face the last time he'd seen her, and he turned away from that memory quickly.

"I grew up with tales of the Skyloft knights," said Groose. "An ancient order. Proud and steadfast."

"Oh yes," said Rusl, not quite able to keep the bitterness from his voice, "they were certainly full of pride."

Even so, he could not turn from those memories completely. Growing up under the shadow of the god-peaks he'd always felt like he was doing the right thing. He was made to be a knight. That's what it meant when the sky itself spoke to you.

"How old were you when you came to be an apprentice to the Secret Keeper?"

"Fifteen. My parents died when I was young." Groose cleared his throat, glancing at the window. During the day it would have a spectacular view of the forest, but it was full dark now and night filled the glass like ink in a bottle. "My aunt looked after me for a while, but she was old and stuck in her ways. I do not think she liked me very much." Groose laughed, although Rusl thought it sounded a little strained. "I did have a great interest in making things, so as soon as it was seemly she dropped me off here with all my belongings in a bag and a word not to come back too soon. Impa seemed completely unsurprised by my arrival. Perhaps she saw it in one of her glasses. She has never said."

"She does extraordinary work."

Groose nodded rapidly.

"Impa says there are two types of magic in the world – that of the mages, and that of Din itself, a magic that comes from the soil and air. This place, where she built this house, is teeming with magic." He paused, rubbing some cheese crumbs from his fingers. "She can do things with the glass that I can barely comprehend, even after years of working with her, but I am learning. I am starting to see how the light refracts, how it can be separated and combined –" He paused, and then laughed at his own enthusiasm. Rusl smiled. "I know techniques and secrets that other men and women would kill to get their hands on. It is just a little lonely. A little quiet."

"What, when you get visitors like us?" Rusl took a gulp of his wine, enjoying the way it made his head spin. "People like us must drop in all the time. Lost lords, mouthy sell-swords."

"Handsome knights?" added Groose with a raised eyebrow. They both laughed this time.

"From my experience, you don't learn the value of a quiet life until you lose it," said Rusl. He suddenly felt rather tired, and older than his years. A long day and too much wine, he told himself. He made a point of yawning, and finished the last of his drink in one gulp. "I think it's time I got some sleep. Lord Frith will be up with the crack of dawn, no doubt, and that one has little sympathy for weary heads."

He stood up with Groose watching him closely. The young man's eyes looked almost amber in the firelight.

"There is still wine left, Rusl. It is bad luck to go to bed on an unfinished bottle."

"You sound like Malon now," he said, and forced a smile. "Another time, perhaps."

Despite his protests about needing some rest, Rusl did not sleep well that night. The small room Impa had given him was warm and comfortable enough, even if the bed was perhaps a little short, but he tossed and turned, at times pulling the blankets up under his chin, and then throwing them off altogether. When he did sleep, his dreams were dark and bloody, and the voices of the dragon's daughters whispered to him as the mountains once had, although with each fitful waking he could remember none of their words.

"She is getting closer," he muttered the third time he awoke with the smell of blood and cinders in his nose. "Closer all the time."

He sat up and looked out the crooked window as the first blush of dawn crept over the tops of distant trees. After a minute or two he realised his nose was bleeding.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading guys. Please comment!**


	25. Chapter 25

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **25**

* * *

In this town they were fighting back.

It was late at night, but already many buildings were on fire, and the Thirty-Third had no difficulty following the movements of the people below from the second-storey window where she crouched. Behind her were the remains of the three men who had been hiding in the building. Their blood soaked unnoticed into the floorboards while the Ninety-Seventh rifled through the wooden desk, scattering paper onto the floor. Word of the brood army's advance was moving faster than they were, and this small town, with its neglected stone wall and half-hearted ditches, had gathered a force together to meet them, men and women in boiled leather and plate. They were different to most of the humans they'd met so far – the fear was still in their eyes, but it was held behind a shield of something else. The Thirty-Third couldn't quite name that shield, but it made her think of their father.

"Why do they do it?" she said aloud. "They must see that it is hopeless."

The Ninety-Seventh glanced up, her fists filled with paper.

"It is that or run and hide."

"Which would you choose?"

As the Thirty-Third watched, a group of men and women on the cobbled streets below brought their shields up and charged forward, trying to gain a few feet on the brood army facing them. There was a chorus of ragged shouts and screams as the crystal blades of her sisters glittered under the firelight, stabbing and piercing. Across the street the buildings were already burning, forcing the humans onto a narrow path.

"Run and hide?" snorted the Ninety-Seventh. She had found pieces of paper full of neat black handwriting, and her eyes were bright with hunger. "Who do we have to run and hide from?"

There was a deafening roar from outside and a blast of carrion stench. The Thirty-Third leaned out of the window and looked up just in time to see Cia come hurtling down from a star-studded sky and crash heavily into the burning buildings opposite. Flaming debris flew everywhere, killing half the humans outright, while Cia writhed in the destruction. Amongst the fire her scales were black and gold.

"Perhaps sometimes all you have left is the fight," said the Thirty-Third. To her surprise, the surviving humans were regrouping and heading towards the dragon. Several had long-shafted spears which they aimed towards Cia's belly. They charged, and their tiny human cries were just about audible over the roar of the fire and the dragon.

"See?" she said, gesturing at the fight. The Ninety-Seventh took no notice – she had found a pot of ink and was daubing things that almost looked like words across the paper. "Why do that? They will die now, certainly."

"They will die either way," replied the Ninety-Seventh, unconcerned.

Cia, body curling like a snake to face her attackers, could have killed all of them with one strike of her tail; instead, her great head shot forward and snapped one of the men between her jaws. His scream the Thirty-Third heard quite clearly.

"Mother is playing with them," she noted. She turned briefly to look at the bodies on the floor. She and the Ninety-Seventh had torn their throats out in short order, save for the fat one who had tried to hide under the desk. The Ninety-Seventh had poked him all over with her sword until he came out, and by then he was half dead. They'd left him to bleed slowly. Playing with the humans no longer seemed as satisfying as it had once been.

Outside, the group of men and women had broken, and now some of them were trying to run, but Cia slid her tail around to block their escape. Claws full of reflected fire stabbed at them with playful precision; one man was undone from his throat to his belly, while a woman who'd almost made it into a side street had her legs cut from under her. Cia bent her head, almost delicately, and the woman was gone.

The word 'nightmare' occurred to the Thirty-Third although she wasn't entirely sure what it meant.

The Ninety-Seventh joined her at the window. Her hands were black to the wrists.

"Look, there are more of them coming. They do not give up."

Even as their comrades were reduced to blood and gristle, more of the humans were marching up the street, bellowing, swords held high.

Cia turned towards them and both the brood sisters felt the wave of simple pleasure emanating from the dragon. It was like stepping from the shade into bright sunshine on a hot day.

"They don't give up because sometimes the fight is all you have left," said the Thirty-Third grimly. Her sister turned away from the window, not quite daring to meet her eyes. Her expression was guarded.

"That's what he would say," she whispered.

In the street below, Cia was spewing fire over the small human resistance, cooking them inside their armour. The smell of burning flesh wafted in through the window. The Thirty-Third thought of his eyes, cold and blue, and the memory of sky she had never seen.

"Our father would say that."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading, guys. Please comments!**


	26. Chapter 26

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **26**

* * *

Malon was determined to drive him mad. Link came to this conclusion on the second hour after they were supposed to have left for the hidden bridge. First, she rose later than everyone else, stretching and groaning and padding into Impa's kitchen like a scruffy alley cat. She insisted on a hot bath, causing Groose to run off to heat up more water, and afterwards sat at the kitchen table eating plateful after plateful of ham and eggs, steam rising from her sodden hair. And when finally she had dressed, teasing her hair into a configuration that pleased her, scraped the mud from her boots and oiled her knives, it had still taken a fair amount of cajoling from Rusl and outright threats from Link to get her outside into the morning air. And now she stood, surveying the world as if it were waiting patiently for her approval.

"Are we ready?" asked Link. "Finally?"

"Almost," she said, scratching her head and shaking the last of the water from her ears. "There is one last thing. A request, actually, for the Secret Keeper."

Impa raised a pair of wispy white eyebrows. Outside the house with its distorting windows she looked to be over ninety. She leaned on a walking stick, although Groose was always close at hand.

"What is it you wish, girl?" asked Impa.

"Whatever it is, let it be quick," said Link. "It will be midday by the time we take our leave."

Malon ignored him.

"You say that you can manipulate glass so that it shows you what you want."

"In a sense, yes." Impa shrugged her bony shoulders. "With certain restrictions, of course."

"I was wondering if you could make something for me," she said, her head tipped slightly to one side. "A special favour, I suppose, but when our princeling here pays us I will be good for the gold."

"What is it you would like to see through the glass?"

Malon smiled, the slow smile of a woman with a secret.

"The truth. Just the truth."

Impa rubbed a finger over her chin and nodded, apparently pleased with the challenge.

"Come into my workroom for a moment," she said, "and I'll make some measurements."

And so they waited, Link pacing back and forth. Groose had prepared small packs for them all – new cloaks, a parcel of bread and cheese, fresh waterskins – and these he passed out with a mildly wistful look, as though he wished to go with them. He even gave Link the small lighted globe he'd used in the tunnel under Kakariko, for which he gave a quick, muttered thanks.

Eventually the Copper Cat emerged. She and the Secret Keeper shook hands, and she rejoined the group.

"Are you quite finished?" asked Link. He knew it was only asking for more barbed comments, but he couldn't help himself. "Would you like to dawdle for another hour or so? Perhaps you feel it is time for another bath, or is there some food left in the kitchen that you haven't consumed?"

Malon gave him a sunny smile.

"No, that's quite all right. I think it's time to go, don't you?"

Biting down his answer, Link said his goodbyes and, holding up the chunk of glass, advanced upon the cliff's edge.

The bridge was still there, much to his relief. There was an archway over the entrance, and as he stepped up to it he saw that the symbol of the Frith family had been carved deeply into each wooden pillar; a pair of Faron trees, branches spreading out to either side. Looking at that, out here in the middle of nowhere, made his throat feel tight. His father had stood here, who knew how many times, with this same viewing glass, and had walked across this extraordinary bridge so often that no doubt it had become commonplace.

 _Why did he never tell me about it?_ To see signs of his family's existence when he was the only one left still alive was … He decided not to think about it any longer. Turning back to look at Malon and Rusl, he saw that they were both watching him closely.

"Well, what are you gawping at? Let's get a move on. I'm sure you'll be wanting to collect your money and be off."

"After you, princeling." Malon gestured at the cliff. "There's no way I'm walking off the edge of this first. Remember, we can't see the bloody thing."

"You do not actually have to accompany me, you know."

"What? Let you go wandering off down an invisible bridge by yourself?" said Malon. "You'll either get yourself killed or decide you don't feel like paying us after all."

Link sighed. He suspected she was more interested in seeing the inside of the vault than his safety.

"Very well."

Holding the glass up in front of him, he stepped onto the bridge. Beneath his feet there was only empty air, according to his own eyes, but he could feel the firm wooden surface. The construction of the bridge was strange, to say the least: there were no sides, but the floor, made of smoothly joined dark wooden slats, curved up slightly towards the edge, so that you might have some small warning before you wandered straight off the side and fell to your death. Below he could see the rocky side of the cliff, and the dark canopy of trees. There didn't appear to be anything supporting the bridge at all. His stomach tried to climb up through his throat.

"I wouldn't advise looking down," he said, dragging his eyes back up to the piece of crystal held carefully in his hands. "And keep close behind me. Tread only where I tread." Malon and Rusl followed behind him, neither looking especially pleased.

"Hoy!" shouted Impa from behind them. "Whatever you do, Lord Frith, don't you drop that there glass! You think the journey across is bad enough now; just wait till you have to do it blind. I don't have another."

Muttering, Link walked on. The bridge snaked off to the east first of all, taking a very circuitous route to the distant outcrop of rock that was their destination. The day was overcast, and there were darker clouds edging in from the distant border of Lanayru, promising rain. A storm while they were on this bridge would not be a pleasant prospect. He walked a little faster.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading, guys. As always, please comment!**


	27. Chapter 27

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **27**

* * *

Malon was sweating. It was a chilly morning, and above the trees there was an icy wind that tugged at her hair and slipped down the back of her neck, freezing the sweat that was breaking out across her shoulders.

Her eyes were telling her they were cheating certain death, her eyes were telling her to brace for the fall, all the time, but she could feel the bridge under her feet, and it felt solid enough. _Concentrate on what you're feeling,_ she told herself, _the smooth texture of the wood, the sound your boots make on the slats,_ but that was easier said than done.

She glanced quickly at Rusl just ahead of her. The big knight was turning slightly green. Seeing him hanging there in mid-air made her dizzy, and she laughed nervously.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," he said.

"Oh yes. Best time I've had since we won all that wine, do you remember? I'd never seen so much vomit."

Rusl grimaced.

"Can we talk about that another time?"

Link was still in front, the viewing glass held out in front of him stiffly. The wind ruffled his blond hair.

"How are you doing, princeling? Anything we should know about this bridge we can't bloody see? Fine trick that, by the way. Not that I'm suggesting your family were a bunch of overprotective lunatics or anything, but most people are happy enough with a few big locks and a guard dog."

"It is not so far," he said, in what he probably thought passed for a patient tone of voice. "Concentrate on walking, not complaining."

"Can't you use some magic to make the bridge visible? That would be useful."

"And reveal the path to the vault? Don't be ridiculous." He paused, then said, "There's a sharp turn to the left just here. Keep close behind me."

They continued that way for a good hour, inching slowly across the invisible bridge as it turned this way and that, gradually moving closer to the distant outcrop of rock. Strained sunlight shone off the stone, turning it into a white beacon amongst the dark foliage of the trees, and the sounds of the forest drifted up to them; birdsong, the wind tugging ceaselessly at branches just below their feet, and every now and then the crash and thump of larger animals moving through the forest.

Once they heard voices, and Link motioned them to stop. The three of them stood still and silent, apparently suspended in mid-air as a pair of hunters walked by underneath, completely unaware of the people above them. Malon peered down between her boots, for the time being too curious to avoid looking at the drop, and she thought she saw a brief movement of something that could have been a hat, or a pair of shoulders, glimpsed through the filter of the leaves. A snatch of their conversation drifted up through the trees and then they were gone, deeper into the woods. After a few seconds, Link moved them on.

Eventually the erratic bridge began to straighten out, and the three adventurers stood in front of the mound of stone that housed the Frith family vault. The invisible path led directly into a fissure in the rock. As they got closer, they could see it was actually a sizeable cave, tall enough even for Rusl to walk in without having to stoop. The stone to either side of the cave was sheer with very few handholds, meaning it would be extremely difficult for anyone to reach from the ground, assuming they knew there was anything to find. The rock was a foreboding, lonely place, and there were no lights in the space in front of them. It reminded her of the Keep.

"We should go in," she said, reluctantly. "I suppose."

"Yes," said Link, although he hardly sounded certain. He slipped the viewing glass into a pocket and removed the glass Groose had given him. The globe burst into sunny light, revealing the craggy cave entrance. At the far end was what looked like a wall of thick blue ice, completely covering the back of the cave.

"That doesn't look very promising," she said.

Link marched up to the barrier and laid his hand against it.

"It's glass," he said. "It's not cold at all."

He was right. It was so thick that they could see nothing of what lay beyond; the light from the globe hit it and bounced back, twisted into a cold rainbow of colours. "Can you see a keyhole?" asked Malon.

"What good would that do?" snapped Link. "When we don't have a key?"

"Blood is the key," said Rusl. His voice sounded far away. Malon turned to look at him and saw that he was swaying on his feet slightly. Against the black of his cloak his face was almost milk white, and she thought it had little to do with the walk across the invisible bridge.

"Rusl, you look terrible. Are you feeling all right?"

He waved away her question.

"Late night, too much wine, nearly died the other day, remember? I'm fine. Blood is the key, Impa practically told us so. Only a Frith can hold the secret glass, and I'm willing to bet that only a Frith can open the vault."

Link took a short dagger from his belt, rolled up his sleeve and laid the blade against his forearm. Malon watched his face closely; he didn't flinch as the skin split and the blood welled up. Once there was a sufficient amount he smeared it across the thick wall of glass.

For a few seconds, nothing happened at all. They could hear the wind blowing past the cave entrance, carrying the cries of birds and the green scent of the deep forest.

Then there was a shudder so violent that Malon stumbled, falling into Rusl behind her, and the wall of apparently solid glass melted away like the ice it resembled. Beyond it was a large, round room with softly glowing lights in the ceiling. The walls were panelled with warm brown wood, and there were thick embroidered carpets on the floor, giving the impression of an expensive study. Heavy wooden chests were stacked everywhere, with bulging hessian sacks strewn between them. There were paintings on the walls too, all sombre portraits. An odd chemical stink hung in the air.

It wasn't quite as Malon had imagined. She had expected dust and cobwebs, and, more importantly, piles and piles of gold coins and jewelled crowns and suchlike. Instead, it was all rather reserved and, well, organised. She walked over to the nearest chest and prised open the lid with one of her daggers. It was full of musty old documents, so she let the lid fall back with a thud.

"Very cosy," she said, and turned back to look at Rusl and Link. The young lord was standing in front of one of the portraits. His face was very still.

"That was my father," he said. The painting depicted a middle-aged man with nut-brown skin, blond hair swept back from his forehead, and a long, regal nose. Cool grey eyes stared out of the picture, wise and solemn. Link nodded to the portrait next to it. "And that was my grandfather, and his father next to him. They must all be here." He swallowed, and Malon clearly heard the catch in his throat. "We had portraits like these in the castle, but they seem to have one of everyone here, too." There was a space on the wall next to old Lord Frith's painting, where presumably his sons' portraits would have hung. She could see Link's face in his father's portrait, and like an echo, she could trace it back through all the paintings of his ancestors. What must it be like, she wondered, to have that much history behind you and to see it all scrubbed away?

Knowing it would do no good at all but needing to do it anyway, she rested a hand on his shoulder briefly.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Link looked away from the wall, saying nothing.

They searched the vault, and eventually Malon did find the gold she was after, in several ornate chests at the very back of the room. Rusl watched her run her fingers through the coins with a wan smile on his face. Link was sorting through piles and piles of documents and maps, most of which looked fragile and yellow under the strong lights. The room smelled of dust and old paper, the accumulated scent of forgotten things, with a sharper tang underneath which Rusl didn't recognise.

"There are coins here from all across Hyrule," said Malon. "And there're an awful lot I don't recognise. Your family has been hoarding for a long time."

"The Friths are as old as Faron," replied Link in a distracted voice.

"It's good to know we won't be beggaring you by collecting our fee," said Malon dryly. She wandered over to one of the hessian sacks and pulled it open. A strong scent of bile and rotten eggs filled the room.

"Urgh. Whatever this was, I think it's gone off."

Link glanced at the sacks, and nodded with recognition.

"My father was a skilled alchemist. It seems he kept some of his most valuable and dangerous ingredients out here, where they cannot cause trouble." He gave Malon an appraising look. 'Best wash your hands as soon as you're able.'

Rusl walked around the room, running his eyes over the crates and chests and sacks without really seeing any of it. He felt too warm, though when he placed his hand against the wall, it was cool under his fingers. It was difficult to think, to concentrate. The question was, of course, what were they going to do next? Link had recovered at least part of his family's legacy, although what that was worth when his lands were still under the control of murderers and bandits, Rusl wasn't sure. The young lord still had to take back his castle and have his revenge, whatever form that would take. He and Malon could leave now, he supposed. Take what they were owed, the copper promise fulfilled, and head off across Hyrule to the distant coast. Take a boat from there over the Stoney Sea to Lon-haven, find another job and another willing employer, since that was what his life had become … But that wasn't all, was it? What of Kakariko? And what of the dragon's daughters? He could feel them now, a hot stone deep within his chest, like a fever brewing.

He crouched next to Link. The young lord had spread several yellowing maps on the ground in front of him and was peering at each closely.

"What now, my lord?" asked Rusl eventually. Link did not look up. "I know that you have the means to pay us, and you are a step closer to regaining your lands. It may be that it is time for us to part ways." He took a deep breath. "But by the code of the Skyloft knights, I cannot, in all good conscience, leave this land while there are innocents being killed and tortured in the name of tyranny and demon-worship. I must return, and I hope that—"

Link held up one of the maps.

"Does this look like a river to you? There's no key on this drawing, I think it is unfinished." Link sat back on his haunches, frowning. "All the secrecy, all the conspiracies. By all accounts there should be some sort of huge revelation here, some reason that the vault has been so closely guarded. Yet all I see are maps, documents, and bags of gold. Nothing worth dying over, surely."

"What?" Rusl glanced at the map, and scowled. "Are you even listening to me?"

"The people, yes, the torture. You know, I believe this is my father's own hand. Where did he get this?"

"Link," Rusl stood up abruptly. The fire in his chest was making it hard to think. "How can you sit there talking about the jottings of dead men, when your own people are being massacred? To keep your secrets!"

Link finally looked up, his eyebrows raised at the volume of Rusl's voice.

"These are maps," he said, gesturing to the parchments. "Not just of Hyrule and her towns and villages, but of the lands beneath." He shook his head wonderingly. "The tunnel that Groose showed us is but one of many. Kakariko is riddled with them."

Malon appeared at Rusl's elbow.

"Why?"

"I don't know, but they appear to be ancient. There are maps of the tunnels, all over my lands. It looks as though my father was investigating them."

"What does that have to do with anything?" said Rusl. His head was pounding now, and he thought he could smell smoke again.

"I have a plan," said Link, regarding them with his serious blue eyes. "A plan that, if it succeeds, will release Kakariko and destroy Ganondorf and his pet monsters."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading, guys. I know this story should have a 'slow-burn' tagging but please bare with me, kay? Please comment as always!**


	28. Chapter 28

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **28**

* * *

They were on the border of Eldin now. The Thirty-Third knew this because the Ninety-Seventh had found a picture in the book she'd taken from the library, and the picture showed the lands they were crossing. After a moment or two of staring at it, she'd remembered it was called a map.

The village they were at now was apparently too small to be shown on the map, so it had no name. She sat on a low scrubby hill outside it and watched for people escaping. That was her job today; some of her sisters were inside the village, running through the streets and breaking into houses, chasing down the humans inside and killing them. She could hear the screams, and, every now and then, laughter. Her sisters were enjoying themselves.

It was a hot day and the sun had warmed her golden armour until a human wouldn't have been able to touch it without getting burnt. She shifted on the ground, comfortable, content, but alert. The idea of a cat occurred to her, but she wasn't entirely sure what that was.

"Let me see it."

The Thirty-Third looked sharply to her left to see two of her brood sisters approaching. One was the Ninety-Seventh, walking stiffly with her arms at her side, and the other was the Twelfth. The Twelfth was slightly larger than her sister, a little broader across the shoulders. She was following the Ninety-Seventh closely, her yellow eyes half shut against the sun.

"It's mine," replied the Ninety-Seventh. "You can't see it."

The Thirty-Third stood up as they approached.

"What is it?"

The Ninety-Seventh looked up. The book she'd taken from the library was tied to her back with twine, next to the sword. It couldn't have been comfortable – their armour and swords were as much a part of them as their green skin, grown alongside them in the birthing pits – but the Thirty-Third had seen her carrying it around everywhere, even in the midst of slaughter, and then leafing through the pages late into the night when it was too dark to see.

"She has this book," said the Twelfth. "And she won't let me look at it."

"It's mine," said the Ninety-Seventh. She crossed her arms over her chest. "She can get her own book." The Thirty-Third frowned. In the brood army, all were the same, and they shared everything. No one had anything the other did not, because they were all the same. But were they? _I am the Thirty-Third,_ she thought. _I am not the Ninety-Seventh, or the Fortieth, or the Hundred and Eighth. I stand apart from them, with different words in my head._ She squeezed her eyes shut briefly to try and block some of this out.

"We are all the same," she said, although she was no longer quite sure she believed it. "What does it matter who holds the book?"

The Ninety-Seventh stuck her lower lip out.

"I got this one myself. It's mine."

"I only want to look at the words," said the Twelfth. Her broad face was creased with the same confusion the Thirty-Third felt.

"There will be other books in the village," said the Thirty-Third, suddenly certain of this fact. "Or other things with words on, at least. We should go in there and look for them."

The Ninety-Seventh looked back to the village. One of the small buildings was on fire already.

"But Mother said to stay here," she said, her voice a whisper. "Not to go in the village."

 _And why was that?_ It wasn't as though Cia usually worried about survivors. They caught them all eventually.

"It won't hurt to look," she said. "Then we can all—"

A sudden furtive movement caught her eye; two humans running from the outskirts of the village. At first they made for the low hills, before they caught sight of the brood sisters standing on the thin grass. They turned and ran to the east.

"Humans," she said, and the three brood sisters moved as one, all thought of books and words and disobeying Mother's orders immediately forgotten. The Thirty-Third shot down the hill, drawing the long crystal blade as she did, hearing the soft, sonorous sighs as her sisters did the same. The humans were young, male and female, both fit but neither fast enough to outrun the brood sisters, and soon the Thirty-Third was on the heels of the young woman. She'd pulled her skirts up to her knees to run faster, and the Thirty-Third could hear the high-pitched keening noises humans sometimes made when they were frightened. She lashed out with a clawed hand, dragging it across the young woman's back until she stumbled and fell. At the sound of her distress the man stopped, perhaps to help her back to her feet, but the Ninety-Seventh took his head off with one powerful blow from her sword. It shot into the air and fell to the dirt some feet away.

The woman screamed for a long time. The Thirty-Third found she tired of it sooner than usual, and when she looked into her sisters' faces she saw the same fatigue reflected there. Instead of playing with the creature for a few hours as they usually might, she pushed her sword into the woman's mouth, silencing her for ever.

"Let's search her," said the Twelfth eagerly. "She might have words on her."

"That is silly," said the Ninety-Seventh. Her voice was tight and sour. "She is not a book."

The Thirty-Third licked the blood from her fingers and went through the woman's clothes. In the long skirts there were a number of pockets, and she emptied the contents out onto the grass; three buttons carved from bone, a fabric packet full of seeds, a small knife, blunt and well-used, and a lock of blond hair, tied with a red ribbon. She held this last item out to her sisters.

"What is that?" asked the Twelfth.

The Thirty-Third placed it under her nose and sniffed. It smelled of milk and vomit.

"It belonged to a human infant," she said. An item precious enough to keep in your skirts next to you at all times, but where was the infant now? She remembered the family she'd spoken to in Hyrule, and how the desperation to save their boy had been pouring out of them like sweat. She couldn't imagine that this woman with her buttons and seeds could have left the child. Unless the child couldn't be saved any more.

She turned the lock of hair over in her fingers. It was very soft.

"Mother is coming now," said the Ninety-Seventh, pointing up into the sky. A great black shape as familiar to the Thirty-Third as her own hands drifted in front of the sun. Cia had come to destroy what was left of the village.

As the fire began to rain down, the three of them walked away, retreating back to the low hills.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading, guys. Please comment your thoughts!**


	29. Chapter 29

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **29**

* * *

It was laughter that told Groose they were coming.

He was in one of the topmost rooms, sorting through his mistress' papers when he heard it; high and girlish, and somehow cruel. He crossed to the window and saw a group of men emerging from the treeline beyond the rocky ground. One of them was tall with dark hair, and although it was difficult to make out his features at this distance, Crowleo knew his face would be scarred and raw. The men who walked with him were slim and purple haired, and as he watched they doubled from two, to four, to six. The Children of the Fog were laughing.

Still holding armfuls of the old woman's designs, he flew down the stairs and nearly collided with Impa, who was coming up them. In here she looked to be in her mid-thirties, the first laughter lines creasing her eyes.

"Woah there, boy, you can still break these bones you know."

"They're coming!" gasped Groose, shaking the papers at her. "He's looking for them! And you know they won't go away without answers …"

To his irritation, the old woman nodded slowly.

"I know, lad, I know. Listen to me now, close like." She produced a contraption of leather and glass from her apron and pressed it into Groose's hands. He glanced down at it briefly to see a smudged inscription on the fabric: _For The Copper Cat. Truth, for what good it'll do you._ "Take that, and go out the back way. Don't stop to take anything else, just go. I want you to go down the Sheer Steps, and wait there. You understand me, boy?"

Groose nodded numbly. The Sheer Steps were a series of rough handholds cut directly into the cliff behind the Secret Keeper's house. Halfway down was a ledge, hidden by stubby little trees that grew out of the craggy rock.

"But what …?"

"I'll just have a chat with them, that's all. Now go, or you'll feel the back of my hand. And keep what you've got there safe."

Groose went, although he only made it as far as the backyard. He could hear them coming up to the front of the house, chatting and laughing as though they were on their way to market. Despite Impa's instructions, he found he wanted to get a closer look at them so he edged over to the wall at the side and peeked cautiously around the corner. There had to be ten Children of the Fog now, ten grinning, chuckling ghouls with blond hair and sharp smiles. Why were there so many? What was Ganondorf expecting to find?

"Come out, old woman!" bellowed Ganondorf. He was grinning, and Groose could see the raw parts of his flesh twisting and stretching. "I've heard so much about you. Had any interesting house guests lately?"

Groose couldn't see her from where he stood, but he heard Impa's voice. She sounded unreasonably relaxed, just as though there were no murderous thieves outside her house.

"What's it to ya?"

"A girl, red hair, bit scrawny for my liking but with a reasonable pair of tits, a big man from the mountains, and another one, a skinny streak of piss with blond hair and a grudge. Sound familiar?"

Amazingly, Impa laughed.

"I'm sure I've no idea what you're talking about."

Ganonodrf nodded, as if he expected nothing less.

"Your boy was recognised, old woman. People saw him fleeing with my prisoners."

"My boy?" Impa shrugged. "My boy has been working non-stop for the last three days, he's had no time for dallying at Kakariko. What's the matter? You killed everyone in the town and now you're looking for fresh peasants to torture, is that it?"

"Zant, bring her to me."

Groose tensed, took a few steps towards them, and stopped. What could he do? He was one man, and unarmed. His heart thudded sickly in his chest and he bunched his hands into fists, crumpling his mistress' papers. One of the purple haired men came forward; he disappeared from sight for a few moments, then reappeared dragging Impa towards Ganondorf. Beyond the enchanted light of the windows, she was ancient once more, and it was clear she could do little to resist.

"I'll ask you again," said Ganondorf, pleasantly. He pulled a knife from his belt as he spoke. Groose saw it glint in the late afternoon light. "These people. The man calling himself Link. Where are they now? Have you seen them? Are they hiding in this house of yours?"

"By the gods, but you're ugly," said Impa in a conversational tone of voice. "Is that why you keep cutting bits of your face off?"

Groose saw the twitch of rage that twisted Ganondorf's face from where he stood. He swore softly under his breath.

"Let me show you," said Ganondorf. He put on the battered half-helm, and it began to glow as Zant and Vaati's armour glowed. He held up the knife, and the approaching storm-light ran along its surface in a flash. "I make this offering to Demise, he who hungers for suffering, and he who gives us power." He brought the knife down, but rather than attacking the old woman, he cut into his own arm. Blood welled up, painfully bright against his skin. Ganondorf grinned, stretching the scars on his face. "Only for Demise will my blood be spilt."

Hidden behind the house, Groose shivered. The temperature was dropping unnaturally fast, although whether that was just the storm approaching, he couldn't have said. He knew he was frightened, possibly more frightened than he'd ever been, even when he'd watched both his parents sicken and die in the plagues. He'd thought the Children of the Fog were terrifying, but there was something else here now, something worse. His skin was crawling.

"Filthy demon-worshipper!" Impa tried to pull away then, to fight. Three more of the Children of the Fog came forward to hold her still.

The anger left Ganondorf's face. Now he looked exalted. He reached out and grabbed Impa by her apron, yanking her off her feet and thrusting her into the air. The Secret Keeper was an old woman and no doubt a lot lighter than she'd been in her youth, but the ease with which Ganondorf dragged her off the ground was still unnerving.

"You will be my next sacrifice, old girl."

Still holding Holley over his head, Ganondorf marched towards the edge of the cliff. Groose shuffled backwards rapidly, taking cover behind a pile of firewood. He watched from behind split timbers as Ganondorf walked to the very edge, a few feet away from the first of the Sheer Steps.

"Forgive me, Demise, for these old bones I offer you now," he said. "I promise you fresh blood next time."

And with that he threw Impa off the cliff.

* * *

 **A/N: Oh no, major game character death, sue me! Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter and thanks for reading. Please comment what you thought!**


	30. Chapter 30

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **30**

* * *

By the time they left the vault the storm had broken, and it took Link a few moments to realise that the darkness hanging over the Secret Keeper's house in the far distance was not just the remnants of heavy clouds moving over it.

"Smoke," he said, and then repeated himself, raising his voice over the roar of the wind. Rusl, who was carrying several large sacks over one shoulder, lifted his face to the far cliff edge, and frowned, a worried crease appearing in the centre of his forehead.

"One of us should have stayed behind," said Malon. She had taken the gold they were owed, carefully wrapping the coins in strips of cloth so that she wouldn't clink when she moved. "I doubt that's an accident."

"Can you see anyone there?" asked Link, knowing that Malon had sharper eyes than he had.

"No one," said Malon. From her tone it was clear she wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad sign. Link moved to the edge of the bridge. There was a new sword at his belt, a thicker blade than his old rapier, but just as flexible and deadly. His hand gripped at the pommel convulsively.

"We must hurry," said Rusl. "We may still be able to help them."

They headed out into the rain, Link leading once more with the viewing glass held out in front of him. He soon found it was harder going back; the wind pushed at them like a belligerent child, as if its dearest wish were to see them plummet to the rain-whipped trees below, and he kept having to pause and use the inside of his cloak to wipe the glass clear of moisture. Behind them, the thunder gave voice to rumbling protests and the air smelled sharply of salt.

By the time they finally reached the cliff's edge the rain had moved on elsewhere. Instead of the fresh air normally found in the wake of a storm there was the sour stink of sodden ashes.

"The bastards," said Malon. She paced angrily, like a cat in a cage. "I'll have their guts for this."

The Secret Keeper's house was not completely destroyed – the storm had stopped the flames before they brought the entire place down – but the front of it was ruined and black, and every window was smashed to pieces, the sills thick with soot. The grass around the house glittered, the scattered remains were all that was left of the magical glass artefacts it had housed for so many years. Tools and equipment had been dragged out of the stone workroom and those that could be broken were strewn across the grass.

"They had very little patience," came a voice from behind them. Link turned, his hand back on the pommel of his sword, and saw Groose walking towards them. The young apprentice was soaking wet from head to foot. He joined them by the house, not quite looking any of them in the eye. "I have found her difficult in the past, yes. Cantankerous, obstinate. The rights of an old woman, she used to say, were to be cantankerous and obstinate."

"Goose." Rusl put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right? What happened here?"

"It is obvious what happened," said Link. "Ganondorf and his men came here seeking me."

"She's dead, you know," said Groose lightly. His eyes were wet. "Impa wouldn't tell them where you were, because she was an obstinate, blind old fool who –" He blinked rapidly. "She is dead, and everything is destroyed save for some small pieces I managed to salvage. And this." He untied a contraption of leather from his belt and offered it to Malon. "I believe it is what you asked for. She wanted you to have it, I think."

Malon took the object and briefly held it up to her face. Two discs of blue glass covered her eyes.

"I … thank you." She began to root around in her coin purse, but Groose waved a hand at her tiredly. "She won't be spending the coin now, and I don't have the stomach for it."

"What happened to her, Groose?" asked Rusl.

"Ganondorf threw her off the cliff," he said, and there was the tiniest tremor in his voice. "He cut himself first, and said that Impa's death was an offering to Demise."

Malon made a small noise of disgust.

"Demise," said Link, the corners of his mouth turning down. "I am beginning to think I have seen the name. In my father's library. A demon cult out of Eastern Hyrule. Demon-worship might explain the abilities of Ganondorf's henchmen."

"And then they burned the house and smashed everything inside," continued Groose. "They left. I was hiding –"

For a moment Link thought the young man was going to faint, but Rusl kept a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"She told me to hide, and what could I do?" Groose shrugged. "There was just me, and you were far away."

They were all quiet for a moment. The wind, still playful in the wake of the storm, moved through the grass, doing little to dissipate the stink of ashes.

"We should have been here," said Rusl. "There is so much we should have done."

"They will pay." Malon patted her daggers again, as if reassuring them. "I will spill blood for this."

There was no hope of retrieving Impa's body – the forest at the bottom of the cliff was thick and wild, and busy with scavenging animals – so instead they built a cairn in her memory. Malon found some lumps of old molten glass in the stone workroom, and placed those amongst the stones too, so that it would glitter with the sunrise and sunset. Groose seemed pleased with that, and even offered her a watery smile.

When they were done it was full dark, and they huddled around a fire, still trying to get warm from the soaking they'd taken earlier in the day.

"I will go far away," said Groose. Malon had been sharing a flask of rum with the boy and he looked a little calmer now. "Take what I know of the Secret Keeper's teachings and start again somewhere else."

"Nonsense," said Link abruptly. "You will do no such thing."

He saw Rusl glare at him and ignored it.

"Why would I stay here?" said Groose. He didn't sound angry, only perplexed. "There is nothing for me here."

"We need you to get back into Kakariko," said Link. "And we will need your help once we are in there, too."

"Back to Kakariko?" Now Groose looked alarmed.

"Exactly," said Link, nodding grimly. "I will need to use some of the equipment in your mistress' workshop, assuming it is still serviceable." He cleared his throat and looked at each of them in turn, wondering if they would trust him this far. "And I intend to see that monster suffer, as your mistress suffered, as my family suffered." He picked up a handful of dirt, thick with ashes. "It is time Ganondorf answered to his own demons."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading, guys. Hope you liked this chapter. Please comment!**


	31. Chapter 31

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **31**

* * *

The Thirty-Third sat on the floor with the Ninety-Seventh, a pile of books between them. Somewhere in the room beyond, the Twelfth was rummaging through shelves and making the occasional sound of delight.

This was a town called Outset. It had large brick buildings and a big market square, and to the north of a wide river there were lots of grand houses, with smooth white bricks and little gardens full of fruit trees. Outside the brood army were putting the populace to the sword, but the Thirty-Third, the Ninety-Seventh and the Twelfth had made their way to the big houses, knowing somehow that if they wanted words, this would be the place to find them. An hour or so ago a group of their sisters had come to the doorway, wishing to break things and start fires, but the Ninety-Seventh had sent them away, claiming this area as their own. The Thirty-Third had seen the confusion on their faces and felt uneasy. Sooner or later someone would notice.

"Here, look." The Ninety-Seventh pushed an open book into her lap, a claw pressed against a picture of a man in armour. The Thirty-Third scanned the page; it appeared to be an account of a war that took place many hundreds of years ago, across the Yellow Sea. "This is what he is, isn't it?"

She didn't need to ask who.

"Our father is a knight," she said, and paused at the odd tightening in her throat. What was that feeling, exactly? "He carries a sword, like we do, and wears armour."

"Sometimes I think I hear his voice," said the Ninety-Seventh. She traced her claw around the picture. "Not like how we hear her, thunder in the blood and here," she touched her head, "but quieter." She touched a hand to her heart.

"I hear him too."

The Twelfth strode back into the room with an armful of books. She was grinning.

"Some of the words are beautiful," she said. She tried to open one book and dropped half the others on the floor. "Look, look. See here? This one." She spread the pages for her sisters. "Ephemeral."

"What does that mean?" asked the Thirty-Third, but already her mind was filling with images and feelings, none of them quite solid or certain.

"There are others, see. Woebegone, ennui, daffodil, crocus!"

"They are lovely," agreed the Ninety-Seventh.

"I want to keep these words with me," said the Twelfth. She tried to gather up all the books and dropped them again.

"Tear out the pages?" suggested the Ninety-Seventh. The Thirty-Third frowned. Somehow she felt their father wouldn't approve of that.

"No," said the Twelfth, who apparently felt the same. "I will make them my name. You will call me Crocus from now on."

"Crocus?"

"Yes!" exclaimed the Ninety-Seventh. "We don't even have names, do we? Not truly. The Ninety-Seventh, the Thirty-Third … these are positions, they don't mean anything. Especially not now we are out of the birthing pits."

"I want to be Ephemeral," said the Thirty-Third. Again there was that tight feeling in her throat. It was important, suddenly, to claim that word for herself, with all the soft images and feelings it provoked.

"That is a good name," said the Twelfth, now Crocus, clearly pleased she had been the one to come up with the idea. "Ephemeral, my sister."

"Oh!" cried the Ninety-Seventh. She gathered all the books to her in a panic and began to leaf through them frantically. "However will I choose?"

"They must be our secret names, though," said the Thirty-Third. She caught hold of her sister's hand and squeezed it, before glancing up at the newly named Crocus. "We must not tell anyone."

"No," agreed Crocus. "They will be our secret words, for us alone."

The sisters chose their names while the town of Outset burned, and a dark shadow moved restlessly above the clouds.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading, guys, hope you enjoyed this chapter and you comment your thought on it!**


	32. Chapter 32

**The Copper Promise - Part Two - Children of the Fog**  
 **By: Wydrin Williams 178**

* * *

 **32**

* * *

Rutela touched the taper to the curls of paper in the fire-font, and watched as they spat and hissed into warm, orange life. The scent of spices, fruity and dry on the back of her tongue, briefly filled the room and she thought of her temple back home. There, she would have a hundred fire-fonts, and they would be kept blazing at all times, so that the sick and weary would be kept warm, and see the words that were painted on every spare surface. In here, the outbuilding she'd convinced the blacksmith to rent to her, she could only afford two fire-fonts. Most of the space was needed for sickbeds, and the small bags of powder she'd brought all the way from Hyrule were feeling lighter all the time. She had to be sparing.

A low moan distracted her from the sudden bout of homesickness, and she went to one of the beds. The man lying there was running a high fever and had managed to throw his blankets off again. The end of one arm ended in a bloody stump bound in insufficient bandages, and the red threads of infection were curling their way up past his elbow and were well on their way to his shoulder. She would need to make a decision soon, she knew that. What was an arm, if traded for a life? But the man was delirious, and all her attempts to get him to understand had failed. Rutela pressed a damp rag to his forehead and murmured soothing words.

There were nine people in her makeshift surgery now, and she expected more to arrive tomorrow. Not all were victims of Dodongo's knives or Ganondorf's own strange enthusiasms; some were simply malnourished or ill with common diseases that should have been treatable, but they had long since run out of those medicines. If Ganondorf's men would just let her out to roam in Faron she could collect some of the supplies they needed …

A timid hand touched her bare arm.

"Regnisse? There is another one here to see you."

Rutela turned to see one of the young women who occasionally helped her to tend the sick. Anju's own brother had suffered in the Tower, his arm flayed from the elbow to the ends of his fingers; tricky work, but Dodongo apparently had a great deal of patience. The girl had come in with him to help out, and stayed to tend the others too.

"Show them in."

A figure wearing a thick hooded cloak stepped out of the shadows. Rutela couldn't see the face under the hood, but it was clear what the problem was. She pointed at the great bulge pushing at the robes.

"You're with child, girl?"

Rutela had become very familiar with the people of Kakariko in a relatively short space of time – it was all a part of spreading the words to those yet to be enlightened – but she knew of no one who was so heavily pregnant. The figure pushed back her hood and grinned at Rutela.

"You must help me, Sister," said Malon, patting the bump with apparent affection. "You won't believe the amount of trouble I'm in."

* * *

"What are you talking about?" hissed Rutela.

They had retired to a space at the back of the makeshift hospital. It reeked of old vegetable smells; potatoes, turnips, carrots. The young woman looked less bedraggled than when Rutela had last seen her; at some point recently she had washed the dried blood from her hair and pulled on a new shirt under her leather bodice. There was an air of energy about her too.

"You're not listening," said Malon lightly. "There are tunnels under this town, and I need you to help me locate the entrances. Then we're going to take these bags," she pointed at the pair of sacks that had made up the bump under her robe. They both smelled faintly of chemicals. "And use the stuff inside to leave a trail. I don't understand how it works myself, but I've seen the bombs that Link made before and they were certainly effective. The first place we need to find is—"

"Enough!" Rutela held her hands up for quiet. She glanced at the words etched in ink across her knuckles. Peace. Faith. Kindness, in the old language. "You have questions to answer first, child. Your friend with the blond hair, who is he? What is he? He burst into flames in the middle of the market and killed seven men, and ran away unharmed."

"I wouldn't call him a friend as such, more a nuisance. A pretty nuisance, maybe, but—"

"Malon!"

The Copper Cat sighed.

"He is the lord of this land, just like Rusl said. The great big idiot. Big pair of idiots, if you ask me." She scratched the back of her head. "Look, Lord Frith employed us to help him search the Keep in Hyrule."

"The mages' Keep?"

"That's the one. We thought he was after gold and silver, like any normal person would be, but he found a magical lake, and now –" She paused, clearly wondering if she should be telling the priestess any of this. "Now he carries the power of the mages within him."

Rutela snatched up the young woman's arm. Distantly she was aware that she was squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise.

"That is not possible, child. You lie."

Malon shook her off with a scowl.

"And how else do you imagine he produced those flames? He's done other things, too. Healed my fractured arm, for one, although he seems to do little else of use."

"But the power of the mages –" Rutela's mouth was dry. Inside her chest her heart was thrumming like a wasp in a jar. "They all died, so long ago." She saw Malon's quizzical look and her voice became sharp with impatience. "Don't you understand, child? My order have studied the words of the mages for hundreds of years. These words!" She pulled up her sleeve and brandished her arm at Malon. It was laced with blue ink, as intricate as the patterns on a butterfly's wing. "We have only the words. The power is long gone! And now you're telling me it's back?"

"What I'm telling you," said Malon, "is that we have a way of killing the rabid dogs that are infesting this town. You said to me that I looked like the sort of person who has seen trouble, and doesn't mind dealing some in return. Well, here I am, ready to cause some mayhem. Are you going to help me? I know that you want Ganondorf and his scum gone."

In the room beyond the door, someone cried out in pain. Rutela heard Anju's soft voice murmur in response, and the cries turned to quiet sobs. The fire-priestess took a slow, deep breath, remembering the words of peace and calm. There would be time enough later. For now she must do the duty of a Regnisse.

"I will help you," she said. "But you must promise me that I can speak with this Lord Frith, when all else is done."

Malon grinned and nodded, apparently pleased to be promising something on Link's behalf.

"Oh, absolutely. Just don't blame me if he's tight-lipped. Our princeling is hardly free and easy with his secrets, believe me."

Rutela pursed her lips. That would have to do.

"Very well. What is it you have here?"

"First of all, a map." Malon pulled a roll of parchment from within her robe and spread it on top of a crate. The oil lamps in the storeroom cast only a dirty, buttery light, so that Rutela had to peer closely to see the faded black and green lines. She recognised it immediately: the square of the market in the centre, the long road that ran from the south gate to the Queen's Tower at the north of the town, and the buildings to either side. Some of it was not accurate, leading her to believe that it was a very old map, but most of the heavier stone buildings were there. And in green ink there was another set of lines apparently drawn over the map of the town. "Kakariko," said Malon. "And in green you can see the tunnels that run beneath."

"Who built them?"

"How should I know? Link says his father was trying to find out, because there are similar tunnels under lots of places in Hyrule. That's not important. Where do Ganondorf's men bunk?"

Rutela pointed to a large building on the western side of the market square.

"Those are the barracks. And the rest are in the Queen's Tower, along with that unspeakable little toad, Dodongo."

"It's difficult to judge where Ganondorf will be at any one time, but I reckon taking out his men would be a good start. The barracks, and then the tower," said Malon, tapping the circle to the north of the map. "There is a long tunnel that runs down the centre of the main street, do you see?"

Rutela nodded. A green line ran from the tavern, turned sharply right, and proceeded up the middle of the street and through the market. There were several tunnels branching off, and two of them led under the barracks building. The main tunnel continued on to the Tower, and passed straight under the walls and out into the forest beyond. Looking at the green lines it was almost as if she recognised the shape, almost … was there something familiar about the way that part turned, the way one line crossed another?

"And what do you intend to do in these tunnels?"

In answer Malon retrieved a sack from the floor and untied the rope at its neck. The chemical smell increased until Rutela's eyes began to water.

"This is the accelerant. If we light this it will carry the flame where we wish," said Malon. There was a dark powder inside the sack. She closed the neck and opened the second bag, a little more carefully. "And this is the stuff that's going to help us give Ganondorf a very bad day indeed." Inside the sack were a number of pallid, greasy bricks of some semi-solid substance. They smelled powerfully of bad eggs and rotten meat.

"Regnisse, would you care to accompany me on a spot of mayhem?"

Despite herself, Rutela smiled.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading, guys. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!**


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